


Last King Standing

by Drabble_By_Ash



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Multi, Mute Vagabond, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Jack Pattillo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2020-05-14 22:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19282078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drabble_By_Ash/pseuds/Drabble_By_Ash
Summary: The roar of the engine was louder than the blood pounding in his ears. Everything was alive, electric, and he pushed the car harder. He grinned, expertly threading in and out of the downtown traffic, honks and shouts of displaced civilians adding to the cacophony around him. And he forced the accelerator higher and higher until he was a blur down the crowded city streets.A manic laugh bubbled in his throat, but he swallowed it down under the guise of professionalism. There was a job to do, after all, and the flashing sea of red and blue ahead kept him on track. So he punched it, driving impossibly faster still. Above everything, he could hear someone yelling, shouting demands over the scream of sirens. It was laughable, really, to think his crying would sway the people held up in the jewelry store. No one moved towards the building, cops huddled tight behind the open doors of their fancy little cruisers.Three cars, six officers, and the promise of a good time.





	1. Along for the Ride

The roar of the engine was louder than the blood pounding in his ears. Everything was alive, electric, and he pushed the car harder. He grinned, expertly threading in and out of the downtown traffic, honks and shouts of displaced civilians adding to the cacophony around him. And he forced the accelerator higher and higher until he was a blur down the crowded city streets. 

A manic laugh bubbled in his throat, but he swallowed it down under the guise of professionalism. There was a job to do, after all, and the flashing sea of red and blue ahead kept him on track. So he punched it, driving impossibly faster still. Above everything, he could hear someone yelling, shouting demands over the scream of sirens. It was laughable, really, to think his crying would sway the people held up in the jewelry store. No one moved towards the building, cops huddled tight behind the open doors of their fancy little cruisers.

Three cars, six officers, and the promise of a good time. 

They were too focused on the storefront to notice the dark car finally skid to a stop, dark marks across the pavement. His tires would be shot to hell and, admittedly, he was a little put out that no one saw him. Well, he’d just have to fix that. There was only time for a breath before he reached over, dragging a dark duffle bag out from the floorboard of the passenger side. It was too easy to rifle through, occasionally stealing glanced back to the scene outside his windshield. Something moved in the building, snapping everyone’s attention and their weapons to the big windows. The screaming orders of the head officer turned harsher. Things were starting to kick off and the man in the car allowed himself an eager chuckle as he finally pulled out a simple little grenade. 

It was the incessant honking that finally got one of the younger officers to turn and look, and instantly all the color drained off his face. Because, goddamn, was the Vagabond not something you ever wanted to see sitting there, arm stretched out his window, fingers curled around an explosive. The black skull mask smiled, wild and manic, and cold eyes tracked their movements like a predator. The Vagabond laid on the horn again and let his grenade fly in a lazy arc, tossing it into the fray. 

“Grenade!” The cop dove for cover, and everything exploded oh so wonderfully. It was beautiful, all the noise and heat and _chaos._ If he could, he would have bottled that sweet euphoria and cherished it forever. There were seldom few things as cathartic as causing chaos. Making mayhem had to be a close second. 

But there wasn’t time for all that. Lights flashed in the rear view, painting the leather interior swatches of blue and red. He floored it before the smoke started to clear. Anyone worth their shit would know to get the hell out of the Masked Mercenary’s way. And lucky for them, the overpaid Los Santos’ police force seemed to value their lives. 

Confusion let him sail through the debris and skid to a stop at the front door. Lazily, he blared the horn again, and not even a minute later three bodies were sprinting out towards him. Gavin launched himself into the front seat, golden sunglasses dangerously low on his face. There was one hell of a bruise forming on his jaw, but he laughed excitedly as Michael and Jeremy barreled into the back. The Vagabond spared just a moment to give the lads a quick once over, and then they were off again. 

Tires squealed as he floored it, jumping back onto the road like it was nothing. Bullets pinged off the back and Michael cursed loudly as he dragged Jeremy down. Glass exploded over the two of them as the back window shattered beautifully. And in just a moment the boys were back, peaking over and taking aim. He was glad he’d been talked into stocking up back there, despite his numerous protests that “none of you motherfuckers are allowed anywhere near my car.” Paranoia and peer pressure turned out to be kinda useful in the end. 

It wasn’t long before Gavin was joining them. And he was even decent enough to roll his window rather than smash it like some sort of animal, thank you very much Jeremy. _Ah Gavin, always such a dear._ He’d dug a spare gun from the duffle, cooing delightedly as he loaded and took aim. The cruiser behind them was already gone. Michael hit the front window, fractal little spider webs blooming across the glass. Jeremy littered the thin material with holes, and if the Vagabond were a betting man, he’d put money on there being a bullet-hole smiley face on the wreckage. 

He spared a glance back and let a delighted little smile grace his lips. Gavin, for all his foolishness, was a dead good shot. And the Vagabond had the joy of watching his shot hit home, bursting one of the front tires. The cop car veered wide, lost to the city as they sped away. The Golden Boy cheered, knocking his sunglasses clean off his face. It didn’t seem to bother him all that much really. 

Of course, they weren’t clear yet. Where one fell away, three more caught up to them. _Like a hydra,_ he thought before spinning the car so fast it knocked all three of the lads over. As they struggled to right themselves, he steered them across traffic, launching through an intersection. Two of the cruisers ended up trapped behind civilians, and the Vagabond thanked his lucky star for the complete apathy of Los Santos’ rush hour commuters. 

Two more cruisers sped out from a side street, slotting into place just ahead of them.

Michael cackled somewhere behind him and he chuckled lightly as he spun them again, another wide turn that left them reeling. Gavin gave up trying to shoot. Instead he latched himself to every goddamn surface he could touch, like some terrified cat trying to stay upright. Every turn jostled him and he swore loudly, much to the Vagabond’s personal delight. 

Jeremy also abandoned his gun, crouched low on the floor. He steadied himself as the other lad watched the chase with glee. If the Vagabond liked chaos, Michael practically lived on the stuff. It was worth it to see that happy, wildfire spark in his eyes. 

They snaked their way through the city, losing cars around sharp turns. A couple more joined the fight, chasing them valiantly as they circled city blocks. Each moment he could, the Vagabond aimed away from the city center, dragging the chase further and further outside city limits. One peeled away from the rest, kept pace through enough tricky maneuvers to end up neck and neck with the crew. And the Vagabond couldn’t help himself. He laughed, threw the wheel to the side and drove both of them off course. His side mirror snapped, and he knew the paint job would be absolute garbage after this. It needed a tune up anyway. What was a little more work? 

They sailed down the road, jostling each other, trying to throw the other off course enough to stop them. Metal slammed against metal. The young cop at the wheel didn’t even flinch, her firm grip keeping her steady. He had to give it to her, not everyone could keep pace with a high speed chase, especially with the Fakes. Which was maybe a good thing; the force could use more like her. Maybe then they could actually do their jobs instead of ending up as paint smears on the street. 

It really was a shame when she lost. 

The Vagabond moved away slightly, finally letting the car slow down. It wasn’t much, but it gave an opening. He charged to the side, the nose of his car striking the rear or hers. They made it a little farther up the road before she started to wobble. And then she over corrected, driving straight across their path. The Vagabond swerved around her, laughing again as he sped away. She took another cruiser out of the race before he turned a corner and lost sight of them.          

He led the rest of them farther out, a couple of persistent cops still hot on their ass. It didn’t matter. A glance down at the time told him to press forward, half a plan forming in the back of his mind. It’d be tricky as fuck, a little cliché, and most certainly dumb as hell. 

Perfect. 

The accelerator was already pressed into the floor, a heavy boot forcing the engine to give it’s all. It didn’t matter how fast they were going; it wasn’t enough. He wanted more even as the numbers on the speedometer held steady in triple digits. The roar of the engine was louder than the blood pounding in his ears, the screams of the lads, the wind whipping through the open windows. And almost louder than the train barreling down the tracks. 

“You’re not serious?” Gavin screamed, eyes wide as he worked it out. “We can’t make that!” 

The Vagabond, of course, ignored him. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, keeping them steady, the leather creaking. Gavin babbled wordlessly beside him. Michael cursed. Jeremy laughed breathlessly. 

The train was just a few feet away and he didn’t let up. 

He didn’t need to look back to know the cops were baking off. None would be dumb enough to follow him, and the shriek of their sirens was fading. He didn’t care. He pushed on, his heart hammering in his chest and his hands almost shook. It was electric, the adrenaline in his veins. 

Trains had to be the loudest fucking things in the world. 

They flew across the tracks, barely registering the bumps under them. The whoosh of air behind them nearly knocked them over, and he stole a quick glance back again. Satisfyingly, it was all train cars zooming by, and there wasn’t a sound in the car as the others realized they’d made it. It was close, probably the closest he could have gotten it, and god if that wasn’t amazing, he didn’t know what was. He slowed, but he didn’t stop, letting them lose themselves in the dark outskirts of the city. 

After a while, when the lads had recovered and relaxed around him, he reached over and tapped Gavin’s shoulder, albeit a little harshly. The blond looked over with an indignant noise, and the Vagabond brushed him off, easily waving off the other man’s annoyance. After all, hadn’t he just saved their sorry asses? And ruined his entire evening in the while they were at it! 

Carefully, he wiggled his fingers, forming letters in the air that Gavin followed effortlessly. Just three little letters. “Why?” 

Gavin cocked his head, looking like a confused puppy for a minute. “Why what?” And the look the Vagabond shot him was so exasperated, he understood it despite the mask. “Oh, right. The store.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” Michael leaned forward between the seats to yell. “This fucker,” he pointed at the slowly shrinking form of Gavin, “decided he just had to have some fucking ring or whatever.” 

“Micool!” He shot up in protest. “It was more than that! And you didn’t exactly say no when I asked for help.” 

“I didn’t say it was a good idea either.” Despite his tone, he smiled, and there was no actual heat behind his words. There never was with Gavin. 

“It was more Michael!” He barked back, crossing his arms. The sleeves of his fancy button up were shoved up to his elbows, making him look rumpled and out of sorts. He went so far as to pout, which looked a little silly with a split lip and flecks of dry blood all over his chin. “I wouldn’t risk my skin over any old ring when it’d be easier just to buy it.” 

The Vagabond asked again. “Why?” 

Jeremy spoke next, carefully picking glass out of the palm of his hand. “I told him he couldn’t do it.” 

“We’ve done plenty of robberies Jeremy!” Gavin bit back, twisting in his seat to glare at the other man. 

He just smiled wide. “You wanna explain what went wrong then?”

“Alright,” the blond turned again and the Vagabond huffed in annoyance. He’d never had a high tolerance for squirming. “Basically, what happened was Jeremy bet his whole take from the next heist that I couldn’t pull of a spur of the moment heist. He said I wouldn’t be able to do it without all my fancy computers and shite.” 

The masked man sighed as they rolled up to a red light, using the break to sign with both hands. “Gav, that’s literally how you started here. Did you forget how to pull an easy hit or something?” 

Michael laughed. “That’s the thing though. Everything was going fucking fantastic until someone,” and he looked rather poignantly at the Golden Boy, “decided he could go back in for what now?” The blond’s mouth twisted and he mumbled something the Vagabond didn’t quite catch. “Gavin?” 

“A couple of bloody rings!” Exasperated, he threw his arms up. “I went back for a couple more rings and the damn owner suddenly decides to have a go at me. Broke my smegging glasses while he was at it too.” He slumped down in his seat, head hung in his hands. Jeremy leaned forward to pat his shoulder. 

“He wasted enough time for the cops to show up, didn’t he?” The Vagabond asked, although it was most certainly not a question. 

“Yeah,” the Golden boy sighed. “At least it wasn’t a complete failure. You still have the bag, haven’t you Jeremy?” 

The silence from the back was telling. 

“You dropped it, didn’t you?” The brit didn’t bother raising his head. The answer was already very apparent. Silently, the Vagabond kept driving. 

“I might have left it on the ground when I tackled the owner.” 

“Jeremy!” 

The Vagabond chuckled as he drove, carefully picking is way through the city. It was a long, curving route back home, but it kept the cops off their tails, and his dark car melted into the night. The lads bickered, and he let himself enjoy the familiarity of it all. A couple years ago, he didn’t have this. A couple years ago it would have just been silence as he made sure he wasn’t followed to whatever hole he was held up in at the time. There was no one to cover him while he sped away, no one to laugh at during the high points of a chase, and no one to look excitedly at him and tell him what a stupid, shitty idea his getaway was. 

Because a couple years ago, he didn’t have the Fakes. 

He tried not to think about it too often. It was a dark time, a long time, and he didn’t care to remember most of it. He was a Fake now; there was nothing else to it. Who he was, what he did, didn’t matter anymore. He worked hard to convince himself that was true. 

But it was hard to forget when there was so much life around him. The crew was just this chaotic little mismatched group of characters. They were all so excited, and electric, and _alive_ and god it was the best thing he’d ever seen. It’s what brought him to the city after all. Tales of a Kingpin rising in the ranks of the criminal underbelly out west. Crazy heists pulled off by some British prick and his temperamental right hand with a penchant for big explosions. Amazing escapes by the best damn driver the city had ever seen, to the point where the Vagabond had to see if the rumors were true. 

When he got there, he was proven right but also proven very wrong. Because the Fake AH Crew were worse than any story he’d ever heard. And he was in love with their chaos from the start. If they pulled a heist, they made sure the whole city was watching. They were putting on a show and he could appreciate the drama of it all. Every eye was on them, and they lived for it, lived for the thrill of it all. And the ideas only ramped up from there. It was almost a competition between the four of them. Who could make the craziest heist? 

So when they called in the Vagabond to work a job for them, who was he to say no? 

By the time the base was in view, Gavin and Jeremy had both nodded off and by the sounds of it, Michael wasn’t far off. The Vagabond made sure the ride was smooth, just to let them rest up some before Geoff laid into them. Hopefully he wasn’t still up. 

They pulled into the garage, and he took stock of the car before waking anyone up. The windows were shot to hell, and the back had some decent holes in the metal. The tires were no good. He’d pushed it more then what it could give. In his defense, it wasn’t made for heists. It was for light crew work, running errands for the boss and whatnot. Not for high speed chases and intense maneuvers. He’d send for the mechanic in the morning, and make it very clear that Gavin pay for all the repairs. No way was he losing money because of his shit. 

He gently shook the boys awake, headed them up into the elevator. It was a quick trip, but Gavin leaned against the wall like it took all he had to remain standing. Michael stood next to him, an arm ready to help his boi up if he needed it. Post-heist was rough on all of them, especially when things end up failing spectacularly. And it was late, much later than any of them liked being stuck at the base. But the Vagabond resigned himself to crashing out on the couch. No way in hell was he going to sneak home in the dead of night with the trigger-happy LSPD looking out for him. No way. No thank you. 

Evidently the lads had the same thought. As soon was he’d sat down, there were three more bodies settling down around him. Michael took one of the couches, spreading out with the clear message of “if one of you fucks tries to join me, I’ll kill you on the spot.” They all rather wisely headed the warning. Gavin took the loveseat, a small nest of throw pillows surrounding him. The Vagabond just sighed, sank into the cushions as Jeremy followed suit next to him. If he were being honest, he didn’t mind. Jeremy probably squirmed in his sleep the least. 

He was gonna regret it later, but he lazily decided to leave the black face paint around his eyes. It was too much effort to get up and was hit all off. At least it wasn’t the full face this time. It was supposed to have been an easy, relaxing day of minimal crew errands, so he’d dressed down for once. And he knew in the morning it’d be flaky and itchy and gross, but fuck it. He was comfortable enough to just start to doze off. 

They really should have seen it coming, all things considered. After all, “the base” was just a fancy name for Geoff’s penthouse. And they _had_ just technically broken in (or at least that’s what Geoff would call it, even though they all clearly had access). And it was really fucking late. 

So really, they should have expected it when Geoff came barreling in, slamming on the lights and glaring daggers at the four men lounging on his furniture set. The Vagabond half expected curlers and a bathrobe, maybe even a pair of comically large slippers, and certainly a firm talking to. However, he elected to keep that thought to himself, wisely keeping his hands down. 

“So which one of you fuckwits did it?” He asked, and his strained voice cracked in about three places. He was most certainly pissed. “Who fucking riled up the goddamn cops?” 

“It was Gavin.” Jeremy quickly replied, and the brit squawked indignantly from his perch on the loveseat. 

“Gavin,” Geoff’s voice dropped dangerously low as he turned his full attention to the blond. 

“Geoffrey, please. I can explain-” 

“I sure hope you can! Do you know how much clean up I’m gonna have to do after this stunt?” 

Not a lot actually. Most of the time, the LSPD dropped the case a couple days after they lost the crew. It probably helped that they had at least half the city cops on their payroll. Still, he decided to remain silent. No use in making things harder on the poor guy. 

“Geoff!” Gavin whined like a little kid and it was dumb, but that’s what did him in. Sue him, it was late, he was tired, and it was getting to that point. The Vagabond chuckled, and Geoff didn’t hesitate to round on him next. 

“Oh, it’s funny, isn’t it?” He shrugged in lieu of an answer. “Don’t think I’m not gonna punish you for this shit too.” 

“Me?” He signed back, faux shock on his face behind the mask. Geoff would understand the sentiment. He always did. 

“Yes, even you Ryan.” And he somehow dragged the name out a couple syllables as he strode forward. Without hesitation, the leader of the Los Santos’ Fakes reached out and tore the smiling skull off his face. Ryan didn’t so much as blink as it was tossed back at him, catching it easily in one hand. He smiled up at his boss, cheeky and sweet. Geoff shoved him back against the couch with a sigh. 

“Alright, all you assholes listen up.” He glared at all of them, and maybe it would have been easier to take him seriously if he wasn’t wearing a shitty old shirt and loose sweatpants. It felt more like getting a lecture from your dad rather than a feared crime boss. “You’re all grounded until the heist. We’ve put too much effort into planning this thing for you all to go and fuck it up by kicking the hornet’s nest. And I’m disappointed in you. And I hate you. I’d fire you if I could.” 

“What exactly does ‘grounded’ mean?” Jeremy asked, not a care in the world about how angry Geoff was. It was hard to believe him when he threatened to fire them every time something went wrong. And things went wrong a hell of a lot. 

“It means I don’t wanna see you on the news or in my fucking house until I say so! You’re all on lock down. Go home, wait for my call, and leave the cops the fuck alone!” He didn’t wait for any smart replies, just up and stormed out of the room. A door slammed a few moments later. 

The four of them sat in silence for a while, listening to Geoff’s faint cursing. _He’s too easy to rile up,_ Ryan thought fondly. But that was part of his charm, wasn’t it? That’s what made the Fakes so very different than any other gang. The Vagabond had worked for a number of crews as a hired hand over the years, and none were quite like them. The leaders were always cold and distant, or so full of themselves that it made getting shit done impossible. Geoff didn’t work like that. He wasn’t any better than the rest of the crew. Even when he was working freelance jobs for the Fakes, none of the crew pretended to be better than him. 

There was a bare-bones hierarchy, but for the most part, they were all equals. 

Michael spoke up first, tearing his eyes away from the hall. “So, uh, any of you guys leaving?” There was a resounding chorus of “hell no” as everyone settled back down.

They fell asleep easily, and Ryan dreamt of long nights before the crew and rain stuck in the glow of headlights. 

… 

Los Santos didn’t sleep. Petty crime flourished at night, and the bars were always packed. A desperate city trying to drown itself in whiskey bubbles. It wasn’t unusual to see people stumbling home down the dark streets. It wasn’t unusual for figures to lurk in alleyways, hidden by dense shadows. And it wasn’t unusual for some starry-eyed individuals to stare up at the high rise buildings downtown and dream of better days. 

The man in the dark hat watched the penthouse, eyes clear and lips pressed thin. It’d been an hour since the lights went out, but he didn’t look away. He waited patiently, like he always did, like he had for years now. 


	2. Domestic Life Was Never Quite My Style

Dawn broke easily through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. Rosy warm, the morning crept in while the others slept, snoring softly around each other. At some point during the night, Gavin had completely buried himself in pillows and a big throw blanket. Michael hung right on the edge of his couch, poised to fall. And Jeremy had apparently moved in already to steal Ryan’s spot, a tangle of limbs pressed close to the gent’s side.

Ryan woke at the first sliver of sun. Even before the Vagabond, before Los Santos and mercenary work, he’d always been a light sleeper. He wished he could just blame the paranoia. And if he could have (and he very much wanted to), he’d close his eyes and go right back to sleep.

But he couldn’t, and already he could feel the day beginning.

It was too early for breakfast. The rest of the guys would be out for a few more hours, and he carefully moved away from Jeremy to make sure it stayed that way. They needed the rest. He did too, but didn’t he always? To everyone else in Los Santos, the Vagabond never slept. Dawn or dusk, either one yielded the same chance of catching the masked mercenary at work. It was just another layer to his mythos at this point.

His face was gross, and he regretted letting his late-night laziness win. Already the black paint around his eyes was crusty, itchy, and god he didn’t want to think about how bad it was for his skin. If he were any more awake, he’d laugh at that. He didn’t used to give two shits about his appearance. No one saw under the mask and lived, so why bother? But then along came the crew, with their obsession of getting to know him beyond work, and it just seemed wrong to let them see how much of a train wreck he was. Even before he gave them his face, he tried to be a little more put together, just in case.

Being the first one awake had its perks, namely the unrestricted use of the luxury bathroom. And he would swear that there was a special place in Heaven for Jack Pattillo and her insistence on preparedness. Because with how often one or more of the guys crashed at the penthouse, she made sure to keep a fresh set of clothes for everyone in the spacious hall closet. Truly she was too good for this world, and especially too good for them.

An added benefit of the penthouse was endless hot water and fancy soap, and Ryan found it hard to miss his shitty apartment across town. By the time he’d showered, washed away all the paint he could (damn that little bit that always stuck to his lashes!) and made himself presentable, it was at least a decent enough time to start breakfast. Coffee first, because life at the top of the city’s most wanted list was surprisingly domestic at times. French toast next, because he wanted an excuse for whipped cream and fresh strawberries. Sue him.

There was a high stack before he finally heard movement down the hall. He glanced up from the berries sliced neatly before him, watched with barely concealed amusement as Jack sat at the bar sleepily. Fiery red hair stuck up everywhere and Ryan chuckled. She was normally so put together that seeing her fresh in the morning was jarring in the best way. No one really seemed like a criminal right after waking up, and with the slow way her head nodded forward, no one could have guessed that this was Los Santos’ fastest get-away driver. There wasn’t a vehicle, be it land, sky, or sea that she couldn’t pilot. And yet the morning kicked her ass every day.

A steaming mug was pushed in front of her before Ryan went to make her up a plate. Grunting her thanks, she took a sip and he made sure she got extra strawberries. They were quiet a while, and Ryan snuck more cream when he thought she wasn’t watching, leaned back against the counter to eat his own breakfast.

“How do you not make yourself sick with all that?” She asked over the rim of her mug. He grinned, wiped a bit of cream from the corner of his mouth. He didn’t bother replying, too busy enjoying his meal to bother signing. Jack didn’t mind. There’d been plenty of mornings like that, one-sided conversations between the two of them because food was more important. There was a running joke that he’d sooner sell the whole crew out then miss a hot meal. He never did say if that was true.

“Everyone still asleep?” She asked, and he nodded, glancing over her shoulder into the other room. The three boys hadn’t moved, and Geoff hadn’t come shuffling out either. “I see no one took Geoff seriously last night.”

Ryan shrugged, set his empty plate in the sink. “Would you?”

“It was dumb, you do know that right? We can’t risk this heist.”

He waved her off, because duh. It was _his_ heist after all, one he’d spent too damn long planning to just throw it all away over something as stupid as a ring. The lads though…

“I wasn’t part of it,” he signed lazily. “I was headed home and I saw the commotion.”

“Don’t encourage them.”

“I didn’t!” He huffed, and lord knows if he could have, he’d mutter something under his breath about no one ever believing him.

The sentiment was not lost however, and Jack tried not to smile as she admonished him. “Don’t use that tone of face with me young man.”

“I’m older than you!”

“Yeah, well, you’re grounded so shut up.”

He rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been grounded in years Jack.”

“Tough shit,” and there was a grin she tried to bury in more coffee.

“What the fuck does ‘grounded’ even mean? Is Geoff gonna lock me in my room and not let me have dessert? Because I might just kill him if he tried.”

She leaned forward on her elbows, hands tucked up under her chin. Unconsciously, he leaned forward, moved ever so slightly closer. It was like it was some big secret, the way she whispered between them. “It means you go home, you lay low, and you get some rest.”

“Jack-” he started with a scoff, but the look she sent him made his hands pause.

“I mean it Haywood. You’ve worked hard on this heist, and you need a break.” She smiled at him, softer than when she’d been joking earlier. It was one of the many things Ryan loved about her. She wasn’t afraid to let herself be soft, to let the others be soft. No judgment, no teasing. Just honest-to-god care and concern. It was so rare, he thought, and she was one of the few kind souls in the whole fucking city.

“I don’t need a break. I just have a couple more things to work out and it’ll be fine.”

He refilled her coffee, hoping that maybe she’d get the hint and drop it. The look she shot him said otherwise. “Rye,” she started, and suddenly there were dishes in his hands. Can’t talk when you’re busy scrubbing plates.

“Ryan,” she tried again, and he made sure the water was hot before he started washing. He could feel her glaring at him, but he didn’t budge. Eventually, she sighed into her mug. “Talking to you is like pulling teeth sometimes.”

“What’s that?” Someone asked around a yawn, and Ryan stole a glance over his shoulder. Mornings treated Geoff Ramsey only a small bit better than Jack. He hadn’t bothered getting dressed yet, some old shirt and rumpled sweatpants replacing his usual suit. Hair messy, beard scruffy, he moved to lean against Jack’s shoulder. Smiling, she kissed him lightly, and Ryan turned away. It felt too tender to intrude on, and he was content to let them have their moment.

There was a quiet exchange of good mornings behind him, and he made sure the plates in the sink were spotless when he moved them to the drying rack. Someone got up, refilled the coffee cup again and slid it across the bar. Geoff grunted in appreciation, and Ryan ran out of washing to do.

“What did he do this time?” Geoff asked Jack, as if Ryan wasn’t standing right in front of him. Rude.

She snorted. “The usual bullshit. It’s like talking to a wall.”

Geoff hummed thoughtfully, his sleepy eyes staring right through Ryan. He tried not to fidget under his gaze, stood perfectly still and waited. There was bound to be a lecture, something to crack his resolve and make him relent. After all, Geoff knew enough to break him, get under his skin and make him open up. There was a reason only the Fakes had seen under his mask. And he’d given them so much already. Little things, inconsequential things they all held dear.

Sure, the face beneath the mask was irreplaceable, and they understood just how much that meant to him. Hell, it’s taken over a year to get him to take the damn thing off, and then they realized there was more still to rip away from him. The face paint was just as stubborn as the mask had been. But there were small things in between that, mundane things he gave them that stood testament to how far he’d come.

Geoff regarded him a moment, sipped at his coffee before shrugging and turning back to Jack. Everything melted, all the tension Ryan held left in just a moment. Because as much as Geoff could coax him into sharing himself, he knew what fights were worth fighting. At some point, everyone was entitled to their secrets and their privacy. Geoff knew that, and Ryan couldn’t help loving how quickly they respected his silence.

He gave them a moment longer, let the couple have their lazy morning together. There was plenty still to do, his mind running over the checklist quickly. Needed to get his car fixed. Needed to read over the heist. Needed to secure the getaway vehicles. Needed to-

He knocked on the table, smiled softly when they both looked up expectantly. “I need someone to call the mechanic for me.”

Geoff nodded. “Caught some of the footage last night.” And Ryan tried not to roll his eyes at how parental he sounded. “You guys got fucked up pretty good.”

“I think I’ve got one window left. Wheels are shot to shit. Mirrors, fender, paint all need fixed.” His poor, sweet, innocent car.

“Gonna be expensive.” _Yes Geoff, obviously._

“It’s on Gavin’s tab.”

His boss quirked his brow, surprised and yet totally expecting that reasoning. “So last night was his fault.”

Ryan shrugged, held back a grin. “You know how the boys get.”

“Fucking stupid,” but he smiled too. They were idiots, but they were their idiots.

“It was a Lil’ J idea.”

Jack snorted into her coffee. “Figures.”

“Gav lost.”

“Serves him right,” Geoff said with a chuckle.

Jack had her phone out, stepping away to put in the call for him. Larry would be pissed when he saw all the work he needed to do, even more so when he found out it was because of Gavin. Again. Much like Jack and her driving, there wasn’t anything in the city Gavin couldn’t destroy in an hour. Danger prone didn’t even come close to his knack for accidental property damage.

There was a plate in front of Geoff, and Ryan pretended the grateful smile he received didn’t make him want to get up and cook every morning. And he most certainly didn’t soak up the silent appreciation he got for all his small, mundane gestures. It didn’t make his feel like part of a family. _Absolutely not._

He didn’t have to think about it. There was too much work to do still, no time to for mushy, soft feelings. He could appreciate how nice everything was after his plans went off flawlessly. Or rather, as flawlessly as his team would let it be.

The thing is, Ryan wasn’t the ideas guy.

Sure, he had a lot of ideas, had enough confidence even to say they were _good_ ideas. But that wasn’t his job. Geoff brought him on to be muscle for big jobs and intimidation when they needed it. He was not brought on to plan heists.

Heists were Geoff’s thing. He was the one to pick the target and plan the take and plot the escape. It was his job to draw up plans for everyone else to follow. And he didn’t ask for much input. Little things, here and there, if he had to. But if Ryan had to guess, his boss just knew the others well enough to know what they wanted, what they could do. They’d been doing it for years now, even before the Vagabond appeared in the city. They didn’t need to tell him anything. They didn’t need to help.

Ryan liked thinking.

He liked the research and the recon and all the copious notes that went into planning a job. He liked picking out important buildings and picking them apart to get inside and take his prize. They were just really big, high stakes puzzles to solve. And fuck, he was damn good at it too. He’d been doing it for years on his own, handcrafting the Vagabond’s reputation. Thefts to mercenary work to anything to get paid. Get in, get out, make sure no one knew he was there until he was ready for them. There was a reason no one ever caught him.

In a strange way, he didn’t even set out to plan the heist. There was no part of him that was discontent with his role in the crew, always had been. After all, he’d practically been born for it. But it was a stupid joke with Gavin that got out of hand, like everything else. “I bet two people could rob Maze bank.” That’s all it took from Ryan to start everything. It was easy actually. The bank wasn’t particularly difficult and one person could easily blow the vault while the other took over crowd control. Especially if one of those people were him. The main issue he found was the cops.

And even then, all he needed was the crew.

Geoff shouldered past him, put his dirty dishes in the sink. “So big guy, what’s the plan today? Gonna actually go home?”

“Nah,” Ryan waved him off. “I’ve got a couple things left to check on.”

Jack was back, carelessly tossing her phone on the table and leveling him with a look. “Ryan.”

“Jack,” he nodded back, the pinnacle of innocence.

“I hate you,” but there was the smallest hint of a laugh in her voice. As much shit as she gave him for being a workaholic-and he wasn’t! He was just dedicated, or so he’d say-she knew when to back down. Push too hard and you push them away and all that.

“What needs done?” Geoff asked, drawing attention back to him.

A lot, but Ryan picked an easy one from the list. “Need to see a guy down at the marina. Need to stash a boat and he needs to look the other way.”

The Kingpin nodded. “Bribe?”

“He owes us a favor. B-team helped him out a couple months ago and he’s only paid back half so far. I’ll call us even if everything works out.”

Geoff was quiet a moment, and already he looked to work. The sleepiness was washing out of him, and he looked more focused as he thought it over. Ryan almost felt bad. His boss deserved long, lazy mornings. _After the heist,_ he promised.

Finally, he replied. “Take Jack. Don’t cause a scene.”

Ryan smiled brightly, and Jack nodded from her spot against the wall. “I’ll drive,” and he didn’t dare argue with her.

…

Jack’s car was sleek, fast, and they soared down the highway at well above the speed limit. Neither seemed to care, windows rolled low to feel the wind whipping at their faces. The mask broke most of it, but it didn’t stop his long hair from tangling in his ponytail. Jack was no better, fiery locks flying around her cheeks. How she saw anything through that mess, he’d never know. Maybe she didn’t even need to see to drive.

It took an hour to get down there, and half an hour more as she cruised down a coastal road. Beaches were about the nicest thing the city offered. Soft sands, gentle waters, and a silent agreement to keep criminal activities off the premises. After all, even the coldest criminals like a nice swim in the summer.

Every breath tasted like salt and the morning sun made the water dazzling bright. In the back of his mind, so soft he almost missed it, he wondered if he could ever live away from the coast again. And he didn’t even go much, but he liked knowing it was there, so different then everything else he’d seen. Nowhere would ever feel the same as this.

She must have caught him staring because she gently tapped his shoulder. There was work to do, and he nodded swiftly before leaving the car.

The marina wasn’t large, and there were certainly a fair number to pick from. But this one was good. There was enough around it to confuse a cop, and it was close to something else they’d need for the heist. And the main office only had a camera watching the front. The backdoor was completely exposed to him. 

It was too easy to pick the lock, to slip in undetected and creep down the quiet hallways. Jack stayed close, letting the vagabond take the lead. And every step made his heart beat higher and higher. Because this was old fashioned work; this was what he was good at. Making people afraid of the dark, afraid of the Fakes, afraid of the infamous masked mercenary.

The main office was empty, but the mug on the thick desk was warm and the coat thrown over the chair was soft and clean. He’d be back soon, just took a step out for a moment. That was fine. The Vagabond was a patient man.

It took maybe five minutes for the owner to return, and as he opened the door, his stomach dropped to the floor.

Because the Vagabond was seated very comfortably in his chair, dark boots kicked up on the desk, and a wicked knife balanced between his fingers. That dark skull smiled up at him, teeth pulled back too far to be human, eyes dark and empty. All color drained from his face as the realization hit him. There were only so many reasons the Kingpin sent out his attack dog, and none of those scenarios played out very well for him.

Silent as always, the Vagabond nodded to the seat in front of him. He couldn’t move. Fear kept his legs rooted as his life flashed in front of him. He was going to die here.

When he didn’t move, someone spoke from behind. “Have a seat.” And when he tried to twist, to catch a glimpse of who could only be Pattillo, a hand tangled in the hair on the back of his head. She held him still, made sure he could only see the Vagabond. And god, the eyes behind the mask never left him, never blinked as he unsteadily took a seat. Already he could feel cold sweat beading on his brow, and the soft light of his office reflected menacingly off the long blade before him.

“We want to talk,” Pattillo said, he voice cool and calm over his shoulder. It made it so much worse. This had to be routine for them.

“I-I wasn’t expecting-” he tried, mouth dry and tongue wholly uncooperative.

Heavy boots hit the floor, loud as thunder in the small room. A bead of sweat ran down his neck, below the collar of his fancy little shirt. There was fear in his eyes, in the twitching on his fingers against the desk. He knew what a visit from the Vagabond meant. Los Santos was terrified of him for a reason.

The Vagabond shifted, and those fearful eyes tracked his movements. He didn’t let his eyes wander either, digging holes in the man’s skin as he watched, as he waited. Jack stood behind their target, her long fingers held his slicked-back hair. She didn’t move as the men stared each other down, and the only sounds for the moment were the man’s too quick breathing and the tick of his fancy gold watch.

He was money; there was no reason he couldn’t afford to pay for the work he’d had done. It made the Vagabond feel a little better as he slammed his knife into the expensive desk.

Their man jumped and god, the Vagabond swore he saw his eyes start to water. He kept the blade there, straight up and hellishly sharp, his dark gloved hand still holding the hilt. It’d be easy enough to pry it up, to throw it across their small gap and end him. He knew it too, if his steady watch of the things was anything to go by.

"I said,” and she yanked his head back, “that we wanted to talk. Are you ready to listen, or should I let the Vagabond have his turn first?”

Bless his soul, the poor bastard looked ready to lay down and die. All the color drained completely from his face and the faint trembling in his limbs turned to full-on shaking. He knew the reputation there. Blood and gore and chaos, a silent killer with no mercy and no discrimination. If someone crossed him, they disappeared. And if someone wronged him, they became a spectacle. Worse still, after he joined the Fakes, if someone messed with his crew, there was no force in Heaven or Hell that could stop him.

And while Ryan maintained that most of those stories weren’t true, he carefully avoided saying which ones. Gotta keep people on their toes and all that crap.

The man nodded, just shy of frantic, and Jack smiled. “Great. Now Jim-can I call you Jim?” She paused, and the target nodded again, eyes never leaving the knife. “Perfect. So here’s the deal. You cheated us, and you’ve got to know we don’t take too kindly to that sort of thing.”

Jim squirmed, and the Vagabond rocked the knife, letting it free ever so slightly. He knew, he had to have. He knew a year ago that he’d have to pay eventually. And that wasn’t something exaggerated; the Vagabond did not take well to people cheating his crew.

“But,” and his eyes jumped up to meet the Vagabond’s when Jack spoke again. “We’re willing to make you a deal.”

Jim sucked in a breath and then the begging started. “Anything! I-I’ll pay double. Hell, I’ll pay triple if you want. Fuck, just please-”

The knife left the table completely.

 “Please, god, anything!” Voice cracking, there was no doubt now that Jim was full-on crying. Big, ugly tears bubbled down his face. _Pathetic._

“We don’t want your money Jim. We want your marina.”

“What? But, but it’s my whole life!” He blubbered, trying to turn in his chair and plead with Jack. One quick jerk of her wrist stopped that, and he stared helplessly at the Vagabond again. There was no mercy to be found in those eyes. “You can’t just take-”

The Vagabond stood, and Jim snapped his mouth shut.

Jack sighed. “Would you just shut up and listen? We’re gonna use your marina to store one of our boats. Just a couple days, a week at most. No cameras, limited access, and no cops.”

She’d barely gotten the last word out before the babbling started again. “Anything. Of course! Not a problem. Anything you want.”

The Vagabond leaned across the desk, eyes boring holes into Jim.

"And of course,” she purred,” we were never here. You never saw us, you don’t know about our boat, and there’s no reason for the police to mess with you.”

He swallowed hard. “I promise.”

The Vagabond nodded, and Jack took a step back, finally letting their target go. But he didn’t try to turn around this time. Instead he stared as a gloved hand was extended towards him. It hung there, and Jim’s heart hammered in his chest. He swore he could almost see the smile hidden underneath everything, and it terrified him.

It took a second to get his body to work again, and he shakily took the offered hand. They shook on it, and Jim winced at how hard the masked man’s grip was. He could feel his own trembling down into his bones.

And before he knew it, the two Fakes were gone and he was alone in the small office, the only sound his still too quick breathing.

…

They stopped for slushies on the way home, partly to celebrate a job well done, partly because Ryan’s sweet tooth knew no bounds. It was something light and syrupy and it was so damn hot out that Jack didn’t say a word when he asked. Especially after he handed her his wallet to pay.

They were sat in the car, somewhere just a little ignored so no cops would interrupt them. Most people were smart enough to not rat them out, but his deep-seeded paranoia told him it was only took one brave idiot to get caught. And he really didn’t want to get found with his mask off and his tongue blue from the syrup.

Jack was watching him. He could feel her staring. She was the only one of them that still did that. He wasn’t even a stranger anymore, not really. And yet she looked at him like she knew there was something else there, behind a mask they couldn’t see. Part of him hated it, hated how she wasn’t as accepting of his oddities as all the rest of them, hated how she just kept at it. She wanted to know more, wanted to know _him_ more. And that terrified him in a way he didn’t understand.

Part of him was just happy she cared.

It wasn’t surprising when she spoke. “After the heist, you really should take a break.”

“Why?” He asked, finger-spelled with one hand while he staunchly refused to put down the drink. Can’t have a conversation you don’t want it you can’t sign properly.

She rolled her eyes, unamused by his apparently cluelessness. “Because you’re gonna burn out sooner or later. Everyone needs a minute to themselves.”

He stared out the window, watched the people across the street. A family getting ice cream, their little kid wearing most of it on some colorful t-shirt. A young couple trying on sunglasses, trying to get the other to laugh with how gaudy each pair was. A man in a worn baseball cap reading, methodically turning the pages as he read through dark shades.

“Ryan-” Clearly, she wasn’t letting this drop.

He set his drink down, chilly hand cutting her off. “Look, I appreciate what you’re doing here.” She rolled her eyes again, because of course. “But I don’t want to stop working. I like-” That wasn’t right. He tried again. “I want-” Still wrong. He made a pushing motion, throwing the words aside to start over. “I just need to keep busy, alright?”

“But the crew can handle ourselves long enough for you to take a week off.”

He shook his head. That wasn’t the problem. She didn’t understand. “I know that. But I need to work,” he tried again, emphasis on the “need” part.

Her brows furrowed. “Why?”

Because there wasn’t anything else. There’d never been anything else. It’d always been work. Work, and take care of the others, and then work some more. And moving, and running, and looking over his shoulder, waiting. Don’t settle, don’t get attached, don’t let them catch up and-

“Rye?”

And he blinked a few times to try and knock away his thoughts. It was too early for this shit.

“I’m just not someone who does well with boredom.” And he picked up his drink again, done talking.

But of course, Jack wasn’t. She let them sit for a moment, watched the same people across the street. The kid was crying, his ice cream all eaten. The couple were trying on hats, secret little smiles shared between the two of them. The man kept reading, same slow pace, neatly smoothing down the pages as the sea breeze rustled them. When she spoke, it was quiet, thoughtful. “What if we all took a vacation?”

He stared at her, quirked his brow in the unspoken question “what?”

She shrugged, played with the straw of her drink. Her lips were cherry red from it when she smiled at him, bright and wild, like she was chasing something exciting. “All six of us. Just pack up and leave. Let B-team run everything for a while. Go somewhere quiet for once.”

“Together?” He asked, watching her like she’d grown two heads.

“Why not?”

He didn’t have an answer to that. They did a lot together. Hell, at times it felt like he saw them more than he saw his own reflection. It’d been thrown out jokingly, when the others were drunk on a good time and a good drink, that they all might as well just move into the penthouse with how often they’re over. They worked together, hung out in their off time, saw each other nearly every day. And it was nice, Ryan had to admit. So different from how life used to be.

But going on vacation together just seemed so... domestic.

“Where would you want to go?” Jack asked, chasing her thought as far as she could take it.

He shrugged, thought too hard on the whole thing and let himself be more open than he normally would. He set the drink down again, signed carefully. “I’ve never been on vacation before.”

“Really?”

“My family didn’t-” and he stopped. His hands didn’t move anymore. They didn’t talk about his time before the Vagabond.

Jack nodded, kept talking as if he hadn’t completely frozen. _Bless her._ “What about the beach?”

He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, played with the straw in his drink. The ice was melting, the whole things becoming a sweet mess. “We can go to the beach anytime though.”

“Yeah, but we don’t,” she countered with a grin.

“I don’t want to go anywhere we can see all the time. Take me somewhere special.”

Magic words. Her eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a wonderful thing. “We’ll go someplace new. Like Hawaii, or the Caribbean. Someplace tropical.” She smiled wide, watched strangers pass as she planned the perfect trip. She looked so damn happy, and Ryan couldn’t help but be dragged along. 

“You’d match,” he replied, nodding down to her tropical shirt. Her whole goddamn closet was full of them, bright and colorful and alive.

“Bet I could find y’all some too. We’d could all match.”

“We’d look like tourists!” He protested, but he couldn’t help the smile creeping up.

“We would be tourists!” She was so excited, nearly shouting. He let himself smile.

“Fuck it.” And she cheered. “If I’m gonna have to match all of you, I wanna wear blue.”

And it was like he’d handed her the whole world with that. She laughed, nodded as she imagined the whole family decked out in tropical flowers. Or maybe birds? Both? It didn’t matter, so long as they were all together.

“I can work with blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update fixed! the Beta-reader has approved this chapter (and fixed some minor issues, though I'm sure there are still some in there)


	3. Diamonds are a Boy's Best Friend

**Meet me at the museum. One o’clock. Don’t be late.**

He stared down at the text message, waiting casually. It was warm, almost too hot to be outside, and he regretted leaving his hair tie at home. Ink black hair fell around his shoulders, haphazardly pushed back to keep it out of his face.  _ Probably time for a haircut,  _ he thought idly as he tangled loose locks around his finger. It’s been ages since he’d worn it short. Maybe it was time to bring that back.

Gavin was late. Gavin was always late unless it was a heist. Those he could arrive exactly on time, if not early. But in his personal time, it was like the kid didn’t own a watch. Which he definitely did. Ryan counted at least four distinct watches on the hacker’s wrist over the last few months. There was no reason for 1:30 to roll around and Ryan still be standing there like he’d been stood up for a date.

There was, of course, the distinct possibility that he just wouldn’t show at all. The little “message read” notice had popped up under Ryan’s text, but there wasn’t an actual reply. For all he knew, the Brit was curled up at home, buried under all his fucking cats. And not for the first time, Ryan wanted to be able to just pick up the goddamn phone and call him. But it wouldn’t do any good, and calling only to creepily breath into the phone was a level of fucked up he’d luckily never dropped down to.

He was about ready to call it a day and head home, say “fuck it” and spend the day on his Xbox instead. And then he finally showed up, running full tilt and nearly barreling into Ryan. His hair’s flat, mussed about by the wind just a little, and there’s not an ounce of gold anywhere on his person. Gavin –not the Golden Boy- smiled up at him as he tried to catch his breath.

“Sorry about that,” he pants, and Ryan has to stop from rolling his eyes before the poor guy’s given whatever bullshit excuse he’s got this time. “Got tied up at the office and didn’t see the time.” Which was Gavin speak for fucking around at the Penthouse and forget he had a date to get to.

Ryan crossed his arms, huffed out an impatient breath. “Could have at least called.”

It was Gavin’s turn to huff at him. “What good would that have done? You don’t ever answer my calls.”

“I can read a fucking text though. I’m mute, not blind!”

Gavin, to his credit, shut his mouth and frowned. Because as smart as he was, there was just a lack of common sense sometimes that drove everyone mad. Sometimes, easy things didn’t occur to him. But he made up for it in his own way. Like sprinting from the bus stop to the museum just so he wouldn’t be even later than he already was. And that had to count for something.

 “Alright,” Gavin sighed, “What do you want me to say?”

“Don’t be late again.”

“Ryan,” he started to whine, and Ryan cut him off by tossing a small box at him. Black box, green ribbon, because crew colors and all that.

“This should help,” he signed, but Gavin was already tearing into the gift. And the way he rolled his eyes when he took off the lid had Ryan grinning like a shark.

It was a gold watch, ticking softly.

“Now,” he started, drawing the attention back to his hands. “I don’t care what you think. I didn’t plan that.”

“But you bought me a watch?” He was already pulling it on, the shiny metal catching the sun and glimmering brilliantly.

Ryan shook his head. “I nicked it off the marina guy the other day. I don’t think he even noticed I took it.”

The lad was admiring his new plaything, fiddling with the hands to make sure the time was right. “I told Geoff I could make a thief out of you eventually,” he cooed, absolutely delighted. It was maybe a joke when he first started that while his stealth was just fine, he was absolute garbage at actual thieving. Too chaotic, too easy to goad into doing something stupid. Gavin had said he could be taught, because he seemed to believe the impossible and Ryan just felt like humoring him when the lad starting giving tips. Paid off eventually, he guessed.

Ryan nodded, and that last thread of anxiety died out. Gavin wouldn’t just leave him hanging like that. He’d find some stupid way to mess it up, or a dumb reason to be late. But he’d be there, even if it was something boring like going to the museum with Ryan.

“So,” Gavin started as they made their way inside. “What’re we doing here?”

“They opened some new exhibits for the summer,” Ryan signed, ever pleased with the attentive way the lad watched. “I thought it’d be fun to check them out.”

“You never want to go out though.” Which yeah, that’s true. Anything he did really was at the insistence of the others. It took a lot of begging initially too, when he’d just started to open up and trust them. Never without the mask, the face paint. Something, anything, to keep people from seeing him.

But he was there now, no mask or face paint or dark jacket. No Vagabond.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go by myself then.”

“I’m already here Ryan!” He squawked back, and Ryan tried his hardest not to laugh. “It’s just strange is all.”

He shrugged, and it was finally enough that Gavin just sighed fondly and gestured for the gent to lead the way. The Los Santos’ Museum of Natural Science was nothing to sniff at. Three stories of bright white walls, high ceilings, and bullet-proof glass cases. Fully stocked exhibits looked out towards the bay, bright blue waters glimmering in the afternoon sun. It was one of the few public properties the city actually seemed to give a damn about, and it showed in the careful way security watched the long line of visitors pile in. There hadn’t been a successful heist there in the last decade, despite the best efforts of the criminal underbelly.

They were getting cocky too, opening all sorts of tantalizing new displays to celebrate summer in the city. Most were gemstones, a popular theme as the two men stared at the exhibit hall maps. An entire section downstairs was dedicated to tourmaline, boasting proudly to feature the “Rose of Itatiaia” as its centerpiece. Another hall was filled with all sorts of gemstones –rubies, sapphires, aquamarine, and more- all carefully crafted and carved to look like animals. And of course, no museum is complete without a vast display of gems and minerals, brilliant gold pieces, and glittering jewels.

There was plenty else to see, but the happy spark in Gavin’s eyes told him that’s where they’d be spending most of their time. He was just a magpie, no way around it. Anything glittery and gold, he needed it. And half the time he didn’t even want to keep it. More often than not, the others ended up with an expensive gift from their resident thief. Ryan had just a few, and he’d never admit it, but he was particularly fond of a black skull ring Gavin gave him. Very fitting.

The permanent exhibits were upstairs, and the hacker insisted they start there, save all the good stuff for last. Ryan was more than happy to follow along, just enjoy being out for once. He hadn’t been there in ages. When he’d first moved in, back before the Vagabond decided Los Santos felt like home, he’d cased the place hard. How incredible would it have been for one man to break in and steal something where the rest of the city’s gangs had failed? It hadn’t changed much either. Guards in the same places, cameras in the same corners. Sloppy. The elevators were broken too, meaning everyone crowded up the enormous spiral staircase in the middle of the building. There were smaller staircases hidden away on each end, if he remembered correctly, but most people used center stage. Made it really easy to slow everything down if the staircase were to be removed.

Gavin tugged his arm, practically running ahead of him to get in. Ryan wanted to laugh. Never in a million years had he imagined himself there, plainclothes and relaxed. It’d been years since he’d gone somewhere like that for fun. Back then it was someone else pulling him along. Same happy smile, same bright eyes. He kinda missed those days.

“Can we take pictures in here?” Gavin asked, already pulling out his phone.

“Up here, yeah. But not down in the new ones.” Ryan replied, blinking away the wave of nostalgia that washed over him.

Gavin cooed, grinned like the devil when he stole a picture of Ryan.

The gent startled, and the lad smiled wider. That dark, paranoid voice in the back of his head told him to lash out, snatch up that phone and make sure the picture was gone forever. The more logical voice argued it was fine. It was Gavin. He wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt the crew, to hurt Ryan.

“Sneaky prick,” he signed quickly, playfully kicking Gavin’s leg. He danced away with a laugh, raised his phone to take another. And it was stupid, watching their thief trip over his feet to take silly pictures of him. People were stealing looks their way, and for once Ryan let himself not care. Gavin never did. He lived like the sun revolved around him, and he soaked up the sunlight like it was all that kept him going.

They moved through the upper floor slowly, Gavin staring at each and every case for as long as he could. There were little cards everywhere, some little fact about what they were looking at. Apparently the ancient Greeks thought diamonds were splinters from stars, and they needed to get some amazonite for the Penthouse. Meant something about bringing good business. Ryan was only half listening as Gavin read, busy staring at some rock in the farthest case. Black with sharp cracks along its surface, rough and dark and-

“Kinda looks like an egg, doesn’t it?” Gavin asked, coming up behind him. And it did, just a little. “Do you think it could be a dragon egg?”

“Dragon’s don’t exist though.” He stared at the rock a moment longer before finally turning away. “Besides, it’d have to be bigger. That thing’s only as big as an ostrich egg.”

They bounced around upstairs awhile, Gavin stealing more sneaky pictures the whole time. Ryan tried to keep up, but it was a pain to keep putting his phone up to talk. After a while he’d had enough, and resolved to enjoy the rest of the trip. If he needed more pictures, he was sure Gavin would post all his for the whole crew to see.

If he’d thought they spent a long time upstairs, he was vastly unprepared to keep up below. Gavin flitted between the exhibits too quick, eager to see all the new shiny things on display. Which was fine, really. Ryan took his time, memorizing the details on little crystal creatures. There was a duck made from emeralds, and he couldn’t help but imagine it sitting on Geoff’s desk. Crew pride, and all that shit. And the Rose of Itatiaia was actually pretty damn cool. Security was tight around it, but with enough firepower…

Well, that was a plan for another time.

It was late by the time they finally left, and by the time he got back to his car –a much sadder, slower car then the crew car he’d been using, but at least he didn’t stand out- he was more than ready to go home. Gavin climbed in next to him. He’d taken the bus up there, and Ryan thought nothing of giving him a life home, completely free of charge. Or maybe not.

“You pay for dinner,” he signed, and Gavin rolled his eyes, “and we’ll call us even.”

“Even my ass,” he mumbled. “I’m paying to fix your bloody car. Don’t think I didn’t notice  _ that  _ bill in my inbox.”

“You’re the reason it’s broken in the first place!” Ryan shot back, big and exaggerated.

T he lad snorted, shoved him slightly. “I didn’t ask you to come by, you know. You showed up all on your own.” He sighed, like it was some arduous task. “Alright, dinner on me. But it’s not going to be anything fancy.”

True to his word, they ended up at some cheap dinner, something simple and thoughtless in the best way. It was quiet, almost empty, and the big wall of windows let in the sunset light. Everything was warm, slightly hazy at the edges. Comfortable. And they didn’t talk much, never really did over meals. Too much up and down for Ryan. Little things you deal with when you don’t talk.

By the time Gavin spoke, they’d both finished, just sat waiting for the check to come. He leaned in on his elbows, the same way Jack did when she had something serious to say, and Ryan found himself leaning in to listen all the same. The lad played with the straw in his drink, stirred around the half melted ice. Fidgety as always.

“That was a lovely day,” and there was definitely a “but” coming by the way his eyes darted to the side. “I do have to wonder why though.”

“I told you,” Ryan signed back. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I did,” he was quick to assure, but he frowned. “But Ryan,” and there was the whining he swore he didn’t do. “Don’t lie to me Ryan. You never want to just go out.”

Ryan twisted his mouth instead of answering. Because yes, he tried not to go out as much as possible. And yes, he spent as little time around the general public as he could. And yes, the crew had to force him to go anywhere with them. And yes-

“This was about the heist, wasn’t it?” Clever Gavin, able to read him like a book in the worst way.

“Maybe.” And it was just a little difficult to hold eye contact with the way the other man’s face fell.

“I knew it,” he sighed. “Michael told me it was probably just a work thing.” For just a moment, he seemed actually upset. But then he gave himself a subtle shake and that smile was back. The Golden Boy, not Gavin, and Ryan hated how easily he fit on that mask. “Well, hope you got everything you needed.”

“It was only a little bit of work,” he tried, desperate to salvage this suddenly. He hated it, that disappointment on his face. He hated being a disappointment.

The Golden Boy was unamused, and he leaned away from the table, arms crossed. “You just wanted to case the place, didn’t you?”

“Kinda,” he replied, because lying now wasn’t going to do any good.

“You could have done that by yourself.”

“But I wanted to actually enjoy it.” Gavin made a funny little noise at that, somewhere between disbelief and curiosity. “Things are more fun with you.”

Gavin scoffed, but the corners of his mouth twisted up just a little. “You’re a sneaky little prick, you know that? I thought you just wanted a lovely day out, that’s all.” There it was, a little sliver of humor that settle the anxiety in his stomach. He’d take a little teasing if it meant Gavin was happy with him again.

“That’s why I called you instead of anyone else. You appreciate the finer things in life.”

The lad laughed softly, and all the tension was gone again. Everything was fine. Crisis averted. “Can you imagine Michael or Jeremy in there?”

Ryan chuckled, relaxed back in his seat. “They’d find something to destroy and I’m down a getaway car still. Couldn’t come and save them this time.”

“Geoff would have a fit.” There was a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. “You reckon it’s too late to bring them in?”

“I’m not giving Geoff a heart attack,” the gent protested. “I still need him for the heist.”

“That’s a shame,” he sighed dramatically. “So when do we finally get to be part of this secret plan of yours?”

Now, he hadn’t meant for it to be a secret. Like he said, he hadn’t even planned on making the heist in the first place. He’d just started thinking, and thinking is a very dangerous game sometimes. It was plausible, he knew that already. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it, and it wasn’t groundbreaking or anything. By the time he’d brought it to Geoff, it was almost done, and he figured it’d be quicker to do the last of the leg work himself. The stupid heist of his ended up being almost a gift for the others, something fun. It was the least he could for all of them.

“Monday’s meeting,” he answered, and the Brit’s eyes lit up. “We just did the last bit of it.”

“Will we have to do anything else before we can actually do it?”

“Nope,” and he really wished he could pop the p. “Well, a bit of set up, but that’s it.”

“Lovely Ryan,” he cooed, “gone and done all the heavy lifting himself.”

He chuckled. “There’s still some lifting, but I figured Lil’ J could do that.”

They stayed a while longer, talking through easy, mindless things as the sky started to fade. It was dark by the time he finally dropped Gavin off at home, and even later when he finally got back to his. His home was simple, mainly because home wasn’t really home. It was cold and empty, second-hand furniture and blank walls. When he’d moved in, he hadn’t cared about anything. It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. Nothing was permanent and the less he cared, the quicker he moved on again.

It was long months of living out of a suitcase, of unpacking just to pack up again. Any time he let himself settle, something twisted in his gut and told him to run. It wasn’t safe to stay still. Eventually someone would notice. Eventually he’d be found out and after that…

He didn’t want to think about after that.

After he joined the Fakes, he unpacked his bag but he hadn’t gotten any further than that. He wanted to, but he didn’t really know what to do next. Decorate probably. Buy something shiny and new and his. Maybe eventually he would.

He settled in for the night, changed into something comfortable and curled up on the couch to sort through all the photos he’d taken. His phone was absolutely full of pictures by the end of it. Pictures of all the exhibits, of crystals and quartz and rocks. Of Gavin, smiling and laughing and trying to spread the joy he felt. Too much fun, infectious in the best way. And a couple of the two of them, standing almost too close, smiling up at the camera. It’s amazing, he can’t help thinking, that he doesn’t look tired. He’s never not looked tired without the mask.

Maybe it’s Gavin’s fault. After all, he’s been the one to push his limits since the start, to wiggle his way to Ryan’s side. Hell, he’s almost the sole reason he ended up joining in the first place, or at least listening to their harebrained scheme. Without him, he’d have left by now, found some new rock to hide under. He was the first to reach out to him, even if he didn’t recognize the muffled voice on the other end of a burner phone. And he’d almost said no to the job. If he’d been sane, he would have. But that same stupidity –or maybe curiosity- that had him planning a one-man heist of a heavily guarded museum had him agreeing to take out a big name target.

It’d been raining, and there had to be some symbolize there, but fuck it. He couldn’t be bothered to think about it. His jacket clung to his skin, cold leather heavy on his shoulders. He’d been still for too long, muscles cramping, and he was pretty sure he was swimming in his boots. And the target’s late. They’re always late.

For the first time in a long while, he wanted a cigarette. At least it’d be a little warm. Instead, he blinked water out of his eyes and waited.

I t’s one of those places that always seem to mean bad things are happening. The top corner of a shitty motel, looking out across the street to an equally shitty bar. There wasn’t a decent soul for miles, not one goddamn decent person. Just another shithole city.

It  wasn’t even a busy night. Every once in a while a car rolled down the road, headlights stupidly bright. He couldn’t help but feel trapped in them, even though he knew full well they couldn’t reach high enough to touch him. Stupid fears he still hadn’t shaken.

But it didn’t matter because in the next breath the target finally left the bar, and  _ it’s about goddamn time.  _ The gun in his hands was heavy, familiar, and it was hard to tell where it started and he ended. The scope was sharp, and he effortlessly zeroed in on his prey. Just one little squeeze and Los Santos would be down a crime lord. 

Except Geoff Ramsay turned fully and smiled for the camera.

He should have killed him; it was his job to fucking kill him. But he didn’t move, and the rain chilled him to the bone. Clear as day though, he watched Ramsay wave at him, smile barely hidden. Then he mouthed something, and the Vagabond had never been particularly adept at reading lips. Everything was wrong and he missed it.

Or maybe it wasn’t for him to see because not a moment later something squeaked behind him. The metal ladder to the roof, old and rusty and the perfect alarm. The Vagabond rose, sniper dropped for something smaller he pulled from his jacket. There wasn’t anything to do about how exposed he was, back to the street below. Anyone could take him out, but the ladder creaked again and, fuck, he couldn’t worry about how shitty his position was. The safety was clicked off, ready to shoot as soon as something popped up over the edge.

He didn’t know exactly what he expected, but it sure wasn’t a pair of hands held up in surrender. It made him pause enough that he didn’t immediately fire when he saw blond. And his stomach sank when the man finally fumbled his way up, standing tall and lanky and fuck. He’d have to be a moron not to recognize him. The Golden Boy, right there in the flesh. Which meant Mogar had to be close, probably scowling at the bottom of the building because there wasn’t any more sound, just rain. And he couldn’t help but think that everything was about to change.

It’s always raining during those kind of things.

And now he’s here, with a phone full of stupid picture. There’s a few blurry ones he deleted outright. No sense in holding onto nonsense. That being said, he still printed off a couple terrible ones where he completely missed them. More than one was just the top of Gavin’s head and whatever was happening behind them. A few were just empty corners of the room or a blur of some security guard walking away. They’re awful, unusable, and he slid them into a folder nonetheless.

There’s a few nice ones he kept. The ones Gavin took were better, but cameras were his thing. He knew about shot composition and lighting and all that crap. Ryan’s were just nice. They were charming and they were happy and they made that warm feeling bubble up in his chest. He saved them away, and maybe next time Lindsay started asking for scrapbook pictures, he’d send a few of them her way.

By the time he’d finally finished, the stars were fully out, fighting through the city haze to be seen. They’re nothing like they were back home, and of all the things, that might be the worst thing about the city. He didn’t used to miss them either, but sometimes the neon got old. Sometimes starlight and fireflies are just the things the evening needs.

Or maybe he’s just tired. After all, he hadn’t thought about fireflies in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story wasn't supposed to get shippy, and that definitely won't be the main focus of the story but...
> 
> whoops
> 
> Also! All the exhibits I talked about in here are actual exhibits at the my science museum right now! So I didn't just make those up or anything. I embellished a few things here and there, but ye


	4. Ready, Set, Show!

Everyone was more than ready for Monday’s meeting, especially Ryan. It was everyone, including B-team, gathered in the heist room. They were eager, the excitement nearly tangible. It’d been too long since they had a good, old fashion heist, and the crew was getting antsy. Any longer and they probably would have tried making their own type of fun, and no one wanted that. None of them did particularly well with boredom.

Geoff was upfront, but his usual pre-heist tension was gone. He got to be in on the fun for once, and he seemed genuinely happy about it. It was worth all the stress to hear him talk with a smile as he addressed the group. “Alright,” he said with a clap of his tattooed hands. “Who’s ready to get this show on the road?” There was a ripple of eager voices throughout the room and Ryan felt a jab of nervousness. This was it, all his hard work laid out for everyone to see.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Jack smiling back at him.

“Run ‘em through it Rye,” Geoff said, moving to steal Ryan’s chair as he strode forward, shoulders back, head held high. _Look confident, don’t let them see anything else_ . He’d forwent the mask and most of his paint, settled for smearing black around his eyes haphazardly. He’d left his jacket hanging off the back of his chair, and chuckled softly when he caught a glimpse of Geoff slipping it around his shoulders. _Getting cold in his old age_ , he mused. It was a casual Vagabond- almost fully Ryan- standing there in front of them. No one would say it, but most agreed that it was the best version of the mad mercenary. It certainly seemed the most human.

“Alright boys,” he signed fluidly, standing proudly in front of the whiteboard. There was a map hung already, the city ready to be absolutely destroyed. “This is a three-part heist, so listen real good. We’ve got three teams, and each of them have a separate goal.”

There was rustling of paper, and he paused. Some of the newer crew members, like Alfredo, had trouble keeping up with Ryan’s rapid-fire signs. Even Jeremy had trouble from time to time, and he’d been working nonstop for the better part of the year he’d been with them. It meant Ryan had to cut them a little slack, and if he could, he wrote down what he wanted to say most of the time. There were neat little handouts for anything he ended up in charge of. The older crew members didn’t need them as much, but then again, they already knew how to sign before the Vagabond showed up. Helped since Michael couldn’t hear for shit. Too many explosives.

“Team one.” He turned and scribbled on the board, two names in scratchy handwriting. “Geoff and Jeremy. I need a distraction and it’s gotta be big.”

Jeremy perked up, a devilish smile spreading across his face. “How big are we talking here? Draw a bit of attention or what?”

Ryan grinned back, which was always a good thing. He held his hands up, palms facing in as he made two hooking “L” signs. He pulled them apart, farther and farther, smiling impossibly wide at Jeremy’s laugh. Large. Extra-large.

“As big as you can make it.” Again, he turned to the board, put a little red dot somewhere outside the city, and drew a long line to the airstrip. “It’ll make sense here in a minute, but basically you’re gonna draw the cops your way while everyone is doing their thing.”

“How’re we doing that?” Geoff asked, because apparently “be distracting” wasn’t enough detail for him.

Ryan shrugged. “Up to you. Lil’ J and I had a couple fun ideas, but it’s whatever you want to do. Just make it big.”

“So you want me to bring the ruckus?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, and by Geoff’s stupid snicker that was exactly the reaction he wanted. “Yes Geoff, I want you to ‘bring the ruckus.’”

“What’s at the airstrip?” Jack asked, trying to reign everyone in even as she smirked.

“Helicopter,” and Jeremy groaned at that one. Ryan almost didn’t have the heart to tell him the next bit. “And Lindsay.”

“Hell yeah motherfuckers!” She cheered, and Jeremy put his head in his hands.

“No,” he moaned pathetically. “I’ll take anyone else, please. Fuck, I’ll even take Gavin.”

“Love you too Jeremy,” she quipped back over an indignant squawk from their hacker. She didn’t seem the least bit put out by his reaction, smiling sweetly as she flipped through her packet. She wasn’t his first choice for their evac, but it had to happen. He needed everyone else on the other teams, and her track record for flying wasn’t _that_ bad. It could be worse. Maybe if he told himself that enough, he would believe it.

While the rest grumbled, Ryan drew another red line up around Mount Chiliad. There was a safe house up there, and Geoff nodded when he got the meaning. Go here and wait for the others. He switched to blue next, placed a big circle on the museum and an x on the marina. The line tapered off into the water, and appeared again near Chiliad.

“Team two!” And he knocked on the table to get everyone’s attention back. There were two more names on the board. “Jack and Gavin. You two are hitting the museum.”

“Sneaky prick,” Gavin huffed and Ryan gave him his best cheeky smile.

“I’ve got the layout of the security system, and Gav so happily helped scope out the guard rotation for me. There’s a folder I can give you with more details after this.”          

“Do we get backup too?” Jack asked.

Ryan nodded. “Matt’s already worked over their system. He’ll be in your comms to walk you through shutting security down. I’ll have him in a car nearby for remote support, and also to pick you up.” And he pointed at Alfredo. “I need you somewhere high, provide what cover you can for when the cops show, and they will show.” He turned back again to address the whole group. “Alfredo will give you a chance to get to the marina. Get the hell out of there, lose your tail, and meet up at Chiliad.”

Gavin flipped back through the notes, brows knitted together in confusion. “Ryan, what exactly are we after here Ryan?”

“Anything you like. I’ve got a buyer lined up who’ll take most anything. But what I really need is a scene.”         

“We’re another distraction?” Jack sounded confused, and Ryan nodded again.

He turned, scribbled down the last two names. “Michael and I are doing the actual heist.”

“Which is?” Michael asked, just to the side of actual annoyance.

Ryan grinned like a shark, a dark spark in his eyes as he circled the bank in bright green. “Maze Bank.”

Gavin shot up, eyes wide, smile wider. “You figured out how to do it? You bloody maniac!”

“Do what?” Michael asked, a dark tilt to his voice.

“It’s just you and me taking the bank.” There was a stunned silence across the room, and the dramatic bitch in Ryan kinda loved it. “That’s why the other teams are vital. You guys need to keep the cops distracted long enough for us to take care of our stuff. We’ll give the go ahead when we’re clear, and that’s when everyone needs to cut and run.”

The silence stayed, and Ryan glanced between everybody at the table. Alfredo was stuck in his pages, reading and rereading every line. Matt had the folder already, staring down at terrible pictures of Gavin but wonderful picture of security cameras. Lindsay looked over Jack’s shoulder, the two of them silently searching for the right kind of helicopter. Trevor pressed his lips together, Geoff scratched his beard, and Michael stared at the map.

“Any questions?”

He had to knock on the table again to get everyone to look at him, and he asked again. Trevor raised his hand slowly. “So where am I during all this?”   

“Covering Michael and me. We’re going to try and keep you out of the building, but if things really start going south, you may need to jump in.” The other man nodded seemingly put at ease. Trevor wasn’t part of the ground team. He was more behind the scenes, like Matt. A smooth talker who handled crew relations more than a gun. But he’d trained with Alfredo before, and ran with Jeremy back in the day. Ryan had no doubt that he could handle himself out there.

“So,” Geoff started after a minute, “you want the entire police force up my ass.”

He made a show of thinking it over, scratched at the stubble on his face like he was deep in thought. “Should only be half, but sure, if it makes you feel better.”

The Kingpin raised his eyebrow. “And you expect me not to get caught?”

“You haven’t yet, have you?” He asked back with a quirk of his own brow.

“You got an exit for us planned?” Michael asked over Geoff’s grumbling.

“Two bikes parked a couple streets down. We’ll take them to the bridge and catch the train from there.”

“Why’s it always gotta be bikes with you?”

He smirked as he signed. Two hands out like a pair of six-shooters, like those old cowboy movies. He drew them back, curling in his index fingers at the same time. “Fast,” and Michael snorted at him.

The others flipped back through their handouts a few times, but there weren’t many other questions. Trevor still seemed nervous, and Ryan felt for him. A couple of them were out of their element here. Gavin almost never put boots on the ground these days, and Matt ended up having to fill the role he’d normally have. Alfredo might have to expose himself more than he normally would to make a scene, but it was fine. He was used to thinking on his feet.

And Ryan never was a very strong leader.

 _We’ll be fine_ , he kept telling himself. They’d all done unusual things before with varying degrees of success. And hell, they were all still here, weren’t they? This wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle; he was sure of it. They’d be fantastic.

“Anyone else got anything to add?” Geoff asked, his sleepy blue-grey eyes never leaving his paper. There was a series of muttered responses, and most people seemed fairly content in their role. Or at least they understood what they had to do. No doubt Ryan would get some message sooner or later with more questions. For now, they needed to let it all sink in.

“If that’s all,” and Ryan nodded. It’s all he had right now, at least to share with the group. ”Then I think we’re done here. You all know what to, so let’s get started.” And the crew didn’t hesitate to disperse.

Geoff was the last to leave, coming quietly up to the board. His eyes darted around the map, tracing the colored lines that danced through the city. Ryan watched him from the corner of his eye, carefully stacking up the extra papers and the folder for Jack. His boss stared hard, idly scratched his chin before he finally turned to Ryan. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to find himself being watched.

“I didn’t know you knew how to plan a heist like that,” he said, and Ryan scoffed at him.

“Geoff please, have a little faith in me.”  

“That’s not what I meant,” and for once he sounded serious. Ryan straightened up immediately, swallowed the flash of panic that caught in his throat. “I get the Vagabond does his own stunts and all, but this?” He gestured to the board, but Ryan watched him carefully. “This is very different from planning a one-man hit on something.”

“What are you implying?” And there was that sharpness suddenly, a coldness not normally seen around the crew anymore.

“Nothing dude, fuck.” But Ryan didn’t relax. “I just didn’t think you planned heists for actual crews before. Always kinda pegged you as the lone wolf type.”

They were quiet a moment, Ryan’s hands up but unmoving as he thought about how to say it. “Not for crews,” And Geoff quirked his brow. “I didn’t plan anything for the crews that hired me. That wasn’t how the Vagabond worked. But I used to help someone else plan a long time ago. It just wasn’t crew work,” he was quick to tack on the last part, as if that mattered at all. “It was different?”

He didn’t know how much sense that’d actually made, and the confused look Geoff was giving him made his skin crawl. He never really did well on the spot like that. There was too much information to sort through, figure out how much to give without giving it all away. There was so much the crew still didn’t know, didn’t need to worry about, would be better off never knowing.

“How long?” Geoff asked, and god he didn’t mean to but he made a sharp flash of panic seize Ryan.

“Before,” was all he managed, and he really hoped he didn’t betray himself with how quickly he went back to work. That was it. There was one rule he’d set out way at the beginning that he refused to break. No one asked about before the Vagabond. It was his deal breaker. At no point did he want them trying to dig around in who he used to be. It wasn’t their business. It wasn’t important. And it wasn’t good.

He was beyond grateful that everyone took it to heart.

Of course, just because they didn’t ask directly didn’t mean they didn’t get close. Any questions about talking, or why he didn’t, were ignored. It was like he didn’t hear them at all. And Gavin had insisted that Ryan couldn’t be his real name. It was “too bloody normal” apparently. The only thing Ryan would say on the matter was “it’s who I am” repeated over and over until the subject was dropped.

The Vagabond was good at not talking about things.

Geoff nodded, turned back to the board. Ryan sighed softly, tried to make himself calm down. The pages in his hands were starting to crumple and he tried smoothing them down at the edges. Busy work to keep his mind from spiraling. If Geoff noticed, he didn’t say anything. No one ever did. They all accepted that sometimes he just needed a minute, that something was flashing behind his eyes and if he really wanted to talk about it, he would have by now. No one pushed, and it was more reasons to love his crew.

“It’s a good heist,” he said after a minute, turning his head to watch Ryan with soft eyes.

Ryan nodded, gave a small little smile when he looked up. “Thanks Geoff.”

“I mean it,” and fuck, he looked so genuinely proud that Ryan didn’t know exactly how to proceed. There was a hand on his shoulder, and Geoff gave it a couple quick pats before he pulled back. “It’s good and I’m glad you’re doing this for us.”

Ryan blinked, and that safe, soft feeling was back. It started in the middle of his chest, spread out until he just felt light. It only ever bubbled up around the crew, always the crew, and he was afraid to breath, afraid that moving would make it disappear. And if he could have, he would have held onto that feeling for the rest of his life, for however long her possibly, realistically could.

He smiled shyly, and Geoff nodded back, understood what Ryan meant without needing him to say anything.

“If this works out,” the Kingpin said softly, “then we might have to adjust your contract.”

Ryan cocked his head, just a little bit like a confused dog, and Geoff chuckled. “It’s nothing bad, trust me. But I could use a hand on heist sometimes, and it’s either bring you on in the planning phase or ask one of the lads instead.”

“What about Jack?” He asked, because obviously she’d be his first choice here.

Geoff shrugged. “She’s not really into that stuff. Lives in the moment, you know?” And yeah, he could see that. She was Los Santos’ spitfire, volatile like the rest of them and tough enough to prove it. “I could use someone else who can think things through first.”

There was a beat of silence, the two men eyeing each other cautiously. Geoff looked like he wanted to make sure he hadn’t overstepped his boundaries here, that Ryan wasn’t about to bolt on him or shut down again. And Ryan stared just a little dumbfounded.

Geoff nodded once more, maybe just a little nervously. “Just think about it, okay?” And then he was gone, out the door, leaving Ryan with a faint, persistent warmth clinging to the tips of his fingers. 

…

There was a man outside, leaned up against the side of the building. Cigarette smoke curled and coiled around him, making him just a little hazy on the edges. Almost unreal in the fading sunlight. There wasn’t anything remarkable about him though. Tall, with a strong build and a dark coat pulled tight around him. Strange, given the heat, but Los Santos was a strange place anyways. He shouldn’t have stood out, and to anyone else on the street, he didn’t. But Ryan couldn’t help but watch him. Something familiar about him, so close and yet impossible to touch.

And well, Ryan really liked puzzles.

For a long time, he watched him from the shadows, mask pulled hastily over his face. The man didn’t move, smoked half a pack in the time they lingered there. Occasionally he’d steal glances towards the door, look down and check his watch. It was like he was waiting for someone. But he’d missed the lads by at least an hour, and odds were that Jack and Geoff wouldn’t be down until tomorrow. There were still a couple of the support team up there, but most people wouldn’t be able to pick them out of a crowd.

Then again, who’s to say he was even there for the Fakes anyways? There were a couple dozen other residence in the building. He could have been there for anyone of them. Maybe Ryan had even seen him waiting around before, and that’s why he felt weirdly familiar. It was impossible to remember every single person who hung around on street corners, though that’s not to say he didn’t try.

Gavin could find out, if he asked, see if the guy had ever shown up on their security feed before. But if this was nothing, he didn’t want to waste the hacker’s time. Too much to worry about with the heist now, he wouldn’t have the time to deal with Ryan’s paranoia.

The Vagabond could handle this on his own, if there was even anything to deal with.

It was dusk by the time the man moved, and the dark set in quickly around them. Slowly, casually, he pushed off the wall and turned down the alleyway. Ryan ducked down, held his breath as he crouched next to a dumpster. The man didn’t look over, didn’t seem to know he was being stalked. And Ryan thanked his lucky stars he’d managed to get his jacket back from Geoff before he went home. The Vagabond was hard to spot in the shadows, dressed in black from head to toe.

The target paused at the backdoor, and quickly looked around. It was the first time he’d looked out of place, suspicious. He tried the door and frowned when it didn’t budge. Of course not. It had a code, just like every other entrance in the whole damn place. Not just anyone could waltz in.

Now he’d definitely show up on the cameras. Matt and Gavin had a hell of a time getting security up to par. The Fakes needed to know what was happening around them at all times. Ryan especially enjoyed the extra measures. They let him relax ever so slightly. Other times, they just made catching his prey that much easier.

The man sighed, dipped his hands into his pockets and contemplated the door for a long moment. He didn’t seem mad, not even really annoyed. Just sort of quietly resigned. _This wasn’t the first time trying this_ , Ryan though darkly, and all the alarms in his head started going off.

How many times had he been here and what the fuck did he want? If not for one of the Fakes, then was someone else in the building in danger? He grit his teeth, and his dark paranoia turned into anger. And while he didn’t really know the other people in the building, they were good people. No one had ratted out the Kingpin staying on the top floor, or made any complaint about the gang members coming and going at odd hours. That was good enough in his book to warrant the Vagabond’s protection. And if this man was fucking with his people…

He didn’t want to bring out his gun and make a scene. Quiet, quick, efficiency was all he needed and his knife would do just fine. He slid it out and stood, took a confident step out and waiting. The man caught the movement from the corner of his eye and turned. The Vagabond savored how all the color drained from his face.

He wasn’t like the guy from the marina. He didn’t cry or beg or trembled. Quick as lightning, he reached into his pocket and the Vagabond charged. The man ducked under the first swipe, hit the dirt and rolled. By the time he was up again, Ryan was ready and struck out again. The blade bit hard into his arm, ripped his coat and tore into skin. There was red, already so much red, and the Vagabond was relentless.

But the other guy was quick, danced backwards and nearly tripped over his own feet. _Clumsy, not a fighter._ The Vagabond didn’t stop, even as they staggered back again to doge another strike. It was a little frustrating, watching him duck and dodge every hit.

The guy in the coat dropped low, and Ryan’s knife swung through thin air. And he was quick, springing forward with practiced ease. Arms wrapped around the Ryan’s middle and they stumbled backwards in a tangle of limbs. 

They landed, Ryan’s head cracking hard against the ground. It hurt like hell, and he fought through the pain to stay in the moment. His knife was still in his hand, and the other man wrapped clever fingers around his wrist. Painfully, he forced his arm away from his body, twisting until the Vagabond relented. The blade clattered to the ground and the man moved quickly to snatch it up. 

He left himself exposed though, stretching up over Ryan. He tugged his wrist free, felt it twist and pop painfully but shoved that aside. With a free hand, he put everything he had into decking the bastard across the face. It was enough to knock him over, and Ryan scrambled to his feet. 

The blade was still in the ground, and if he could have, Ryan would have swore. There wasn’t time to get his pistol out. The man was charging, and he slammed into the Vagabond full force. They went back again, except this time they didn’t hit the dirt. His back hit the brick wall, knocked the wind out of him.

He punched him clean across the face, and the edge of the hard mask bit into the skin under Ryan’s eye. And he swung again, catching Ryan hard in the stomach. He gasped around the burst of pain, tried desperately to breathe through it. 

And he struggled, got his hands fisted in that stupid coat and pulled him hard to the side. The other guy overbalanced and landed with a hard grunt. It gave Ryan a second to breathe, shake off the punches and snatch up his knife. 

He was about ready to gut this fucker and be done with it all, questions be damned. 

The other guy was on his feet in a moment, and he stared at the Vagabond for a hard second. There was something in his hand, dark and shiny and Ryan cocked his head at it. The other guy smiled, twisted and cruel and there was a quick stab of fear deep in Ryan’s gut.

They sprang forward, and there was something pressed to Ryan’s chest. It took half a second to realize what it was before the shock flooded his system. Every muscle jumped and tensed and everything was just a jumbled mess in his head. The bastard was relentless too, holding down the stun gun until the Vagabond pitched forward and collapsed to his knees.

There was a second burst as he pressed it down again, and even the Vagabond had a breaking point. Unbalanced, disoriented, he dropped down to his hands. Every fiber of his being protested, screamed and spasmed and god everything was so jittery he couldn’t fucking think.

And then it was gone _thank Christ._ The vagabond managed to look up, caught the other guy tuck his injured arm close and stare for a hard moment like he was weighing his options. Like he was trying to figure out what to do with a relatively harmless mercenary at his feet. The Vagabond stared back, dared him to do something stupid. God, he wanted him to do something stupid. 

But he didn’t. 

The bastard turned, and he sprinted down the alleyway. Quick footsteps were the only sound in the alley besides Ryan’s heavy breathing. For a moment, he sat there, feeling like a shit and wishing that for once, he could just fucking curse, just one time please.

There wasn’t time to waste though, and Ryan pulled himself up with low growl. The other guy hadn’t had that long of a head start, so he charged after him, rage pulsing through his veins. The man in the coat didn’t make it easy though. Everything that wasn’t nailed down was thrown in his wake, which was just plain rude at this point. The Vagabond vaulted over the trash cans, surprisingly agile despite how shaky he felt. But there was a chase, prey to catch, and he was determined to win.

The mouth of the alley opened up to them, and the guy in the coat pushed harder. It was his only chance to get away. There was no way he was going to get the Vagabond down again. The late night crowd wouldn’t protect him much though if he was still within sight. He had to slow the Vagabond down to get away.

And luck seemed to turn against Ryan in the blink of an eye.

There was a pallet in the way, stuck upright between the narrow walls right at the mouth of the alley. The guy in the coat had a running start, and he vaulted right over it. Ryan didn’t have that luxury. His legs were starting to complain too loudly to ignore, and his chest felt weirdly tight and fluttery. He wasn’t making that jump.

And Ryan wanted to swear so damn bad because he could see him getting away! It took too long to move the fucking thing out of the way. When he finally squeezed through, he looked around wildly. But he was gone, lost in the night life rush of the city.

Next time he wouldn’t get so lucky.


	5. Detective's Log

**3:36 pm**

The Fakes finally made their move. I don’t know exactly what they have planned; any attempts to infiltrate their base have been thwarted. Despite my last run in, the only one who seems to know I’m here it the Vagabond. I don’t know why, but I don’t think he told anyone about my previous attempt to break in. Maybe he thought he could just scare me away after our fight.

I think maybe he forgot he lost.

Kingpin and Rimmy Tim left first, in what’s got to be the ugliest car I’ve ever laid eyes on. One day, someone has got to tell that kid that purple and orange just don’t mix. Anyways, I trailed them for a while, going north through the city, probably heading up towards Blaine County. Word on the street is they’ve got a safe house somewhere near Chiliad, but I haven’t been up that way myself. Didn’t make it today either. When they hit the highway, I doubled back to watch the base again, in case something else was gonna happen.

Which it did. I got back, and not ten minutes later Beardo and the Golden Boy leave. They didn’t bother with a crew car, evidently planning on being a little bit more inconspicuous than their crewmates. Something plain, something easy to lose in the city. I tailed them too, got somewhere around Vespucci, maybe a bit closer to Del Perro, I’m not sure. I lost them in the crowd before I could figure out exactly where they were headed. But the last time Beardo was out that way, she and the Vagabond gave the poor marina owner a heart attack. Poor bastard was pretty shaken when I tried to talk to him, said he didn’t know anything about the Fakes and kicked me out. I can only imagine how well their conversation must have gone.

Regardless, there’s still two Fakes at the base, and my best guess is they aren’t gonna wanna hang around for long. I don’t know what the plan is, but if they’re pairing up and spreading out through the city, then it’s gotta be something good. Whatever it is, I’ve got my eye on them.

 

**4:14 pm**

I was right. They took their sweet time, but Mogar and Vagabond finally left. Took Mogar’s chrome Adder, easy to follow. And I gotta tell you, this town must be all kinds of dead inside if those two can just blitz through traffic and no one gives fuck. I’ll never get used to this shit hole of a city, no matter how long I stay here. I can’t imagine anyone deciding to call this place home.

They didn’t end up going far, and you don’t need to be a genius to figure out what their after. Maze Bank is just a few streets down. But if that’s the target, I don’t understand the other two groups. Hell, Kingpin and Rimmy Tim are too far out to be of any help if shit hits the fan. Beardo and golden Boy might get here in time, but not before the LSPD show up. And lord knows they’re not just going to let those two get away. Word is they’d fetch a pretty price for an arrest. Makes me almost consider calling in a tip, just to see that mad dash.

I would never, of course. I’ve got a job, and I plan on doing it.

As it stands, Mogar and Vagabond aren’t making any moves. I think they’re waiting for something, I just don’t know what that is.

 

**4:38 pm**

That something was Rimmy Tim and the Kingpin.

So I’ve got a police radio in my car, and it suddenly jumped to life. Sure, it’d been going off steadily all day, always does. Petty shit, thieves and muggings and all the bullshit that’s routine here. Most of it I tune out, and I’d just been watching our guy for about twenty minutes when people start going off.

They didn’t go all the way to Blaine County. There’s a ton of shitty little properties just past Vinewood, still well within Los Santos County. Apparently this little bar was just minding its business when two Fakes waltz in and start shooting the place up. No one’s hurt, not yet at least, but they took the bar. Some lucky punk in the kitchen managed to get a call out before they found him and the line went dead.

And let me tell you, the cops were floored. They’ve got near about half the force heading that way right now. All for two Fakes. The LSPD must be desperate to take them down. Any tease they get is handled with so much chaos. Every last officer is so damn eager to be the one who finally cracks this case wide open.

They never will. There’s something happening up at headquarters keeping the Fakes from doing time. Something- or lets be real here, someone- is mishandling paperwork or messing up plans or something. The hunt for the Fake AH Crew isn’t as organized as it should be. I’d beet good money Kingpin’s set that up somehow. He’s got someone on the inside, or a whole other team in there. One way or another, he’s got the LSPD wrapped around his finger and he’s not letting go.

As soon as the cops head that way, Vagabond and Mogar get their asses in gear. They still aren’t in a huge hurry, and I don’t think it’s go time yet. They’re almost lazily getting their bags and double checking guns and ammo and all that. Almost hesitant. Maybe they’re waiting for the other two to join them. Don’t imagine they’ll be much use though. Golden Boy isn’t exactly a boots-to-the-ground type on heists. From what I’ve seen, he’s more useful behind those screens of him. Beardo (and why _is_ she called that? Just, I wanna know), I get that one. She’s one hell of a driver, and she’d be useful when it’s time to run.

Still, there’s no sign of them, and I can’t imagine there two can wait much longer.

 

**5:15 pm**

LSPD got another call, and it was almost too tempting to ignore. I’m starting to understand the plan here though.

Golden Boy and Beardo took the museum. No one even knew they were in there until it was too late. Best guess? Axialmatt got into their system somehow and took control of the cameras. Probably managed to lead the two Fakes through the security passages without getting them caught. No way would those two be as ballsy as they were being otherwise.

They blew up the stairs right after someone tripped a sensor on the second floor. Got most of the security stuck up there. Still don’t know what they took, probably won’t for a while though. The city is gonna wanna keep that under wraps for a while.

I want to go so badly. I’m listening to two different police chases and they sound amazing.

Kingpin blew out half the bar during the standoff with the police. There’s almost nothing left out there, and the Fakes were quick to split. But the LSPD flowed, seething and hurt, but fuck, they can’t just let those two go. It’s a chase through the desert, neck and neck, and it’s hard to say which way it’s gonna go.

And Beardo, fuck I wanna see that so damn bad. Hearing rumors is one thing, but actually getting to see a legend? I’d give anything to see her drive. Police had a late start too. Apparently there’s a sniper (the Sauce?) keeping them back. But it’s the strangest thing; the Fakes don’t have any safe houses out that way, and she’s leading them in circles.

She’s stalling.

They all are, aren’t they?

 

**5:25 pm**

Mogar and Vagabond are at the front door and I’m moving in. This has got to be, right? The big hit. The main hit. And these two? God, the mess they’re gonna make will be seen from space. It’s gotta be.

They’ve got a whole arsenal between them, and Mogar has to have at least a half dozen explosives on him. Probably more. Definitely more.

They don’t kick the door down. No, they set up some simple charges, back up, and blow the fucking thing clean off. And I’m a little ways off myself, but even I can feel the sheer heat radiating from the blast. Nearly knocks the hat off my head.

No time to waste though. The Fakes rush in there, guns blazing, and people scream. I’m in there next, quiet as a mouse, but I’m not missing this. It’s a brave day for the Fakes.

Mogar’s screaming over the gunfire, telling everyone to “get down! Get on the fucking floor.” And they mean it. The Vagabond’s already shot three guards, and I get in just in time to see him mow down a fourth. He takes over crowd control as Mogar races down the hall, no doubt looking for the vault. I can’t follow, not without crossing the Vagabond. As long as he doesn’t see me, I can stay. And right now, he’s glaring daggers at the Los Santos scum before him.

The skull smiles at the crowd, wild and manic. It’s a terrible place to be, in his reach. It’s terrifying, and you don’t know exactly what’s gonna happen next. I’m still nursing bruises from our scuffle over the weekend. But here? Here it's worse. My little back alley scrap was unprompted, random. This is planned, and everyone knows it. He’s had time to figure out exactly what he wants to do, and brought back up to do it with.

And the cops aren’t coming.

The poor bastards with him don’t know that, but I do. I’ve heard the radio chatter. The force is split in two, chasing the other Fakes though the city. A distraction and its working wonders.

Everyone screams when the building shakes and rumbles, a result of Mogar’s good work no doubt. Probably just blew the vault to smithereens to get inside. Vagabond doesn’t even flinch, but the crowd is frantic. Some are even starting to wiggle, so panic-stricken they can’t hold still. Vagabond doesn’t let that slide. He fires, a long spray into the huge windows behind them. The glass shatters, rains down on their heads, and they settle. Some poor women is sobbing.

Sirens blare outside, so I guess there were a few cops still at the precinct to come deal with this. The Vagabond doesn’t seem too concerned, and Mogar’s still in the building somewhere. I can hear the officers start setting up behind their cruisers. Things are about to get dicey here if the Fakes don’t move soon. Hell, they don’t even have a front door to hide behind anymore.

Mogar reappears just in time, shouting about it being “time to fuckin’ go!” and throws the Vagabond a duffle bag. He gives the crowd a once over, shoots out the last of the windows, and the two of them run towards the back of the building. I follow out a side door. I gotta see this thing through at this point.

I lose them for a minute, but I can hear gun fire somewhere behind the building. Cops tried to box them in, and no doubt those two showed their appreciation for that in the most violent of displays.

But I’m headed back to that car. If I wanna follow, I’ll have to be fast.

 

**5:30 pm**

I come back to all hell breaking lose. The police radio is constant, loud, hectic.

“Kingpin’s heading toward the airstrip!”

“We’ve gotta take out that sniper!”

“Johnson’s down, we need to pull back!”

“Beardo’s turned around. Box her in!”

There’s screaming, a lot of the time for more backup that’s just not gonna come. But fuck, am I missing one hell of a show out there. The LSPD just can’t seem to catch up, and I almost feel a little bad for them. And there’s so much gun fire over the radio, both sides desperate to come out on top.

I pull out in time to see two bikes come tearing out, speeding down the road like hellhounds. And then there’s a pack of cruisers nipping at their heels. I jump in behind them and no one seems to notice, too focused on the chase.

We carve a wicked path through the city and finally! Finally the city seems to care. People clear the road, letting the chase play out in front of them. We pass more flashing cameras than I can count. The people here aren’t afraid of any of this. They’re entertained and the Fakes are ready to put on a show.

Mogar and the Vagabond eat it up too. They weave between each other dangerously, trade places and fake the cops out with each wild twist and turn. All the while, bullets fly past on both sides, and my shitty little car gets a few new scratches. Still, I do better than the cops. Two cars can’t keep up, don’t quite make a turn and end up down and out.

“They’ve got a helicopter. Do we have air support?”

The radio chatter continues, and no, they don’t have air support. Everyone is so flustered and out of control. It’s fucking hilarious.

“Is that?”

“No, it can’t-”

“It’s Firebird, sir! She’s opening fire to give them cover.”

Fucking shit. They’ve really got everyone out here today. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised to find Treyco out here too. Seems like a family affair today.

It’s a damn good plan though.

Mogar and the Vagabond split up, and the cops have to choose which to follow. I’m too far over to have a choice. I pull in to follow Mogar with two other cruisers. Most went after the Vagabond. His bounty might be a little high, after all.

He isn’t a getaway driver, but Mogar isn’t, by any means, a poor driver. The kid’s fast, dangerous, and stupid to boot. A perfect mix for his chosen profession. He cuts off to one side and suddenly things are a lot worse for us. Oncoming traffic didn’t get the memo and is just as confused as we are. They try slowing down, letting us wiz by. But we’re losing him and I’m not ready to give up just yet.

Neither are the cops, and even though we lose ground, we keep him in sight. He’s not shooting anymore, tucking his gun into his jacket and pulling out something else. It’s enough for me to slam on the brakes. The others? Not so much.

Mogar pulls the pin with his teeth and tosses the grenade behind him. It erupts beautifully, sending one cruisers up into the air, a flaming wreck that lands in from of the other and twists. There’s metal everywhere, and thick smoke pours from the carnage. It slows me down, and I’m still with him.

“We’ve lost them. They were headed off towards Blaine County last we saw.”

Kingpin and Rimmy Tim are out. But I don’t think our chase is gonna last long enough for that pack of officers to be a problem. The Fakes rejoin, Vagabond bringing three cars with him. He shoots Mogar a cheery thumbs up, and Mogar throws his head back and laughs. Must be going well then.

“Beardo and Golden Boy are in the water!”

“In a boat?”

“Yes, in a boat!”

“Don’t you morons lose them too!”

Team two isn’t gonna be around much longer. If they hit open water, they’re absolutely gone, and that’s just a fact.

There’s still three cruisers to deal with before the Fakes are clear. And they seem pretty damn eager too. We lose one cop to a sharp turn, and really, someone needs to teach the LSPD how to drive. The other two cars keep pace a little too well, and the Fakes seem to be growing desperate.

Except Mogar repeats his grenade trick and blows one of them over onto their side. There’s just one left, and the Vagabond claims it as his.

I’ve always admired the bravado of the Fake AH Crew. They’re not afraid of stupid plans. And rest assured, that’s exactly what the Vagabond does when he breaks in the middle of the road. For a moment, he just sits there, watched Mogar race away. And then casually, he gets off the bike, turns and stares us down. There’s a moment where he’s just painted in bright strobes of blue and red, where he just watches us approach, and I can’t help imagining a sharp smile behind his mask. If the cops think this is a surrender, they’re got another thing coming.

Mogar’s gone, but no one cares about him. The Vagabond’s got an assault rifle on his back, but he’s not making any moves to grab it. The cruiser stops dead in front of him, and the two officers jump out, their own guns drawn and ready. I can hear them talk into their radios, announce they’re got the Vagabond in their sights.

As they take aim, there’s a new voice on the radio. A deep, almost wheezing chuckle before they speak. “You know, I really don’t think you do.”

And the two officers hit the ground before they even realize what’s happening, twin bullet holes in their skulls is.

Axialmatt doesn’t speak again, and I scan the rooftops for the sniper. The only thing I see is the gleam of metal in the sun, but it’s pulled back and they’re gone. I can’t tell you how the Fakes pulled it off, but it had to be planned. Someone wanted the cops right here to pick them off. But they did it without Mogar or the Vagabond saying a word. That’s one hell of a trust exercise.

I can hear sirens behind me, the LSPD desperately trying to catch up. But for a second, it’s just me and the Vagabond on the road. He sees me, no doubt about it. It’s just a moment, but I watch his hand reach for the gun, ready to finish our fight from before. Just as I go to floor it, he stops, cocks his head likes he’s listening to something. I’d give my arm to be in those comms someday.

Rather than shoot, he jumps back on the bike and glares hard over his shoulder. A smarter man would have probably backed off then, but I’m not really a smart man. I push my luck and I follow him out. He knows it too, but he isn’t trying to lose me like he did with the cops. He’s relaxed as we drive farther and farther out, the sound of sirens dying with each mile.

There’s an intersection up ahead, and I can see Mogar waiting, checking his watch like he’s late for something. I think I know why.

The train gets there before we do, and Mogar’s head gets to swiveling back and forth, counting train cars. If he’s planning what I think he is, he’ll have to move fast. There’s only a small window of time to jump on.

The Vagabond barely stops his bike before he gets off, and then the two of them take off running. Mogar jumps first, catches a handhold easily and tumbles into an open cart. The Vagabond goes next, making it look easy even as Mogar helps to pull him in.

I stop at the intersection. I can try to follow, see where they go from here, but I know it’s over. I’ll admit defeat this time, especially know that the Vagabond’s seen me twice. It’s a little early, but I think it’s time to move things forward a bit.

 

Signing off,

Detective Roger Davis.

…

The crew came home a few weeks later, when the police activity in the city had died out and the news stations stopped playing footage of the heist every day. For once, everything had gone perfectly to plan. Lindsay didn’t crash the helicopter, and Trevor’s quick firing saved his ass in there. Ryan was beyond proud of them, and Geoff beyond proud of him. He wouldn’t mind doing it all again someday.

Except for one small detail.

It was that same fucking guy time after time. That same familiar face from the heist, the one he was so ready to blow to bits had Michael not told him to hurry his sorry ass up. He was there the second they were back in the city, just watching. Outside the Penthouse, in the bar the lad’s frequented, around the damn garage they used to store heist vehicles in. Everywhere. Hell, he’d even showed up for the goddamn celebration, a beer untouched on the table next to him.

Ryan started taking new routes home every day, and made sure a bag was always packed with anything the Vagabond needed to disappear.

No one else had noticed their observer, or if they did, they kept it to themselves. Ryan debated if he should too. If he didn’t already, Geoff would want to know. It was his crew being spied on after all. But then again, he’d most likely send the Vagabond to deal with it anyways. Might as well just cut out the middle man.

He could have told Gavin. Probably should have really. The hacker could follow their stalker through the city, turn all those fancy cameras against him. Then again, it wasn’t exactly necessary. Ryan had never found tracking particularly difficult. Just needed a little foot work and patience. And after the heist, he had plenty of time.

So he watched, followed all those purposefully lazy movements the man made. Watched him order a coffee and sit on a bench to read, occasionally pressing the cup to his lips but never really drinking. Or how he’d claim an outdoor table at some little café and check the time, smile at the waiter and explain that he was waiting for someone, surely they were just late.

Sometimes there was a hat, sometimes he wore his dark hair combed neatly back. Some days a suit, or maybe something more casual. And sometimes he looked so hauntingly familiar that it made that damn anxiety bubble to the surface and hold tight to his chest.

It made him think of Georgia.

He thought of endlessly driving, staring out at a dark road until his eyes stung. And he thought of a wild summer storm, with thunder so loud he felt it in his bones. And he thought of wild eyes staring down the barrel of his gun, his finger flexing on the trigger and-

It was more the enough to get him to follow their stalked into the dark one night. The man left his place on the bench late in the evening, strolling casually down the street with the rest of Los Santos. The Vagabond didn’t go, not a first. But Ryan, perfectly average, blended in behind him. His jacket and mask were stuffed in a backpack he slung over one shoulder. He’d wait as long as he could before changing, since the Masked Mercenary tended to draw a little too much attention for what he was doing.

He tried to ignore how nervous working outside the mask made him. Sure, he’d go out all the time without it, but that wasn’t work. That was grocery shopping, or a trip to the library, or anything a normal person needed to do. Tracking was work, and work was left for the Vagabond.

They walked for good while, long enough for the crowd to thin and for Ryan’s paranoid mind to tell him to hide before he was spotted. But the target had never once looked back to see if he was followed, didn’t seem to know he was already caught. The tall skyscrapers shrank with every city block they passes, and long dark warehouses started popping up. It was darker in the industrial part of the city, far less populated as the night wore on.

Ryan turned off their path, quickly slipping into one of the abandoned buildings around them. His jacket was warm around his shoulders and his mark familiar as it fell over his face. There wasn’t time for face paint, not even a hasty smear of black around his eyes. Slamming on some dark gloves and stashing away his empty bag, he crept out a side exit. It wasn’t hard to catch back up with his target, and even easier to follow from the shadows.

They were alone, picking paths in between dim streetlights, and the man finally broke stride.

The man in the hat turned abruptly, ducked down an alleyway. The Vagabond scrambled to follow, keeping his steps light. It was almost too quiet, as clichéd as it sounded. There should have been something more.

He barely caught the last of the man go through a side door. It swung closed, and the only thing that kept it from slamming where Ryan’s fingers latching on in the last second. Carefully, he pulled it open, went through as quietly as possible.

It was dark, and he hugged close to the wall. No sign of his prey. He pushed forward, tried to see anything in the pitch black. There were a couple crates stacked haphazardly to his right, and he left the safety of the wall to peer around them.

The pipe was a flash in the dark, and the Vagabond went down hard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally getting to main plot stuff! And getting closer to one of my favorite scenes 
> 
> I hope you enjoy


	6. Just Might See a Ghost Tonight

He didn’t ever quite black out, but his eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. His head swam and the ringing in his ears did little to help orient himself. Neither was the fact he was clearly being dragged away. There were strong hands under his arms, and his legs trailed uselessly behind them. None of the bumps or scrapes bothered him much, the pain blossoming in the back of his skull held all his attention, or what little he could muster.

This was a nightmare situation. No one in the crew knew he was in danger. He needed to play this smart, especially if this fucker had his goddamn stun gun on him like last time. But that was easier said than done.

Errant thoughts jumped through his head, but he couldn’t quite catch them. Make them make sense. Still, he tried. He had to. Letting his guard down would get him killed, maybe worse. It’d be easier to give into the heavy sleepiness draped across him. Maybe after a while, he would have.

Abruptly, they stopped, and those strong hands let go. He went crashing down onto his back, head smacking concrete with an awful crack. He didn’t fight back when he was manhandled up, his arms painfully tied behind his back. There was a wall behind him, damp from the musty, humid air. For now, he sat patiently, feeling the world tip off balance as his mind reeled. Concussed, he figured, but the thought didn’t last long. Especially not when his target knelt down in front of him.

“Vagabond,” the man purred, and there was something there. He knew that voice. Why did he know that voice? There was something important flashing under the confusion. “I have to say, we have got to stop meeting like this.”

Ryan growled, and the man in the hat laughed. “Calm down, I’m not here to hurt you.”  _ Which, first off, fuck you.  _ “But you’ve made things a little bit complicated here.”

The man paused, studied the mask for a long moment. Almost like he was waiting for a response. Ryan resolved to give him nothing, not even the slightest twitch the signal he’d heard him. He needed a way out, not a conversation.

When it was clear he wasn’t getting a reply, he continued. “You weren’t supposed to see me, you know? You were supposed to wait until we were ready. I didn’t even have all my pieces on the board yet and here you go, trying to take your turn.”

Here’s the thing; Ryan wanted to listen, he really did. It sounded important, was surely something he should be remembering. But goddamn did two consecutive hits to the head make him apathetic at best. And he was so busy chasing after his own thoughts that he kept missing chunks of what his target was saying. It honestly felt a little rude.

The Vagabond growled again, cutting the man off. Half in frustration, half to show his target he wasn’t impressed. There was blood on his teeth, but he couldn’t remember why. His mouth hurt though, and his tongue felt funny. Probably bit it when he hit the floor.

The Mad Mercenary grinned, bloody and wild beneath the mask.

The man pulled back, something flashing behind dark eyes. If he were a little more present, that would probably mean something. As it was, he switched quickly into autopilot, let the Vagabond do what he did best. His target paused and in that split second Ryan swung his leg out. His heavy boot collided with the target’s shin, hard enough to send him toppling over. The Vagabond was up in an instant, swaying slightly as his head swam.

There wasn’t much he could do from his position. No hands. No gun. No back up. But the Vagabond had a mean kick, and if that’s all he had, then so be it. The other man scrambled up quickly, looking far more sure-footed then Ryan. But something in his eyes gave the mercenary a quick jolt of hope. 

Fear.  

This guy knew who he was up against, knew from the very start. And maybe that first fight had him feeling a little too confident. Because this time? This time the Vagabond was pissed and he wasn’t getting away. 

Ryan charged, and the other guy scrambled backwards, fumbling in his coat for anything to regain control. He wasn’t quick enough though. The full weight of the Vagabond slammed into him, drove him back against the wall. There was a deep, satisfying whoosh as all the air jumped from his lungs.

He slid down, and Ryan gave himself a moment. He tugged on the rope around his wrists, desperate to get it off. If he could, there was a knife on his belt. And one in his boot. And another in his jacket pocket. 

That man was fucked. 

But all he did was rub his wrists raw, the coarse rope holding tight. It was a waste of time, and the other guy was back up. Expect he could use his hands, and he’d gotten what he wanted from his pocket. 

The gun cracked loud in the empty warehouse, and there was a heavy moment of nothing before Ryan felt his shoulder tear open. The bullet had completely ignored the leather jacket and ripped straight through the top of his shoulder. Warm blood ran down his arm, and he grunted in pain. 

“Can’t we talk about this?” The other guy tried, and Ryan was imagining how much fun it’d be to guy this fucker like a fish. 

The gun wavered, unsteady in his trembling fingers. Even with that edge, he was afraid of the man before him. Everyone knew it didn’t matter what you did. If the Vagabond wanted you dead, you were a goner. A part of his mythos Ryan was particularly fond of. 

But still a myth. And a gun, no matter who held it, was still too much to risk. He was a hard son of a bitch go kill, but not immortal.      

There was so much blood down his arm. 

His head swam.

The room around him was nearly barren. A couple stacks of crates here and there. A few pieces of machinery in disrepair. A door on the other end. If he could get out, he could get away. Come back with his crew and hunt this piece of shit down until he could make him bleed. 

He moved quickly, adrenaline forcing most of the pain to the background. There was another booming shot from the gun, but it was a fraction of a second too late. The Vagabond dove to the side, tucked and rolled clumsily behind the crates. The other man swore, and Ryan wasted no time. 

He crept around to the other side just as his prey came forward. He moved around, stared at the back of his head, and swung his leg out as hard as he could. The target went down hard, his leg giving out and crashing into the heavy wooden boxes. 

They broke under him, sharp shard of woods grazing his skin, cutting him to ribbons. And the gun clattered from his fingers, skidded across the floor and out of sight in the dark. 

Quick as lightning, the man was up and he swung wide. His fist caught Ryan in the cheek, forced the hard plastic of his mask to bite into his skin. The second punch caught his square in nose, forced his head back with a crack. Blood immediately spurred down his chin, and he growled low.

Fingers scraped along the mask, desperate to scratch and claw. The heavy plastic held, barely took any damage. It’d taken harder hits. He fought, jerked back as hard as he could. The man followed, stumbling forward just in time for the Vagabond’s boot to collide with his knee. He went down hard. 

Fingers curled along the edge, scraped the pale skin underneath. And when he fell, they tightened. And when he fell, he brought the mask with him.        

He wasn’t leaving here alive. 

There was something in the way he stared up at Ryan, something that clicked so suddenly in his assailant’s mind that he forgot they were fighting in the first place. So openly in awe of something he saw there that he didn’t register the second kick until he was rolling on his side. 

Recognition. 

He knew who he was. Not just the Vagabond, not just some surface level understanding. He knew Ryan. And that was damn near impossible. Ryan didn’t exist outside the crew, not to anyone who could possibly see his connection to the Vagabond. Even then, most people knew aliases. No one knew him. 

Ryan Haywood didn’t exist until the crew asked him to. 

The man was on his feet, and whatever he saw in Ryan’s face faded as he realized the danger he was in. Even more so when he saw the dark look in his eyes, something wild just below the surface. 

If he knew who Ryan was, he needed to die. 

The Vagabond dropped his shoulder and ran forward. The two bodies slammed into the wall, but Ryan didn’t let that stop him. He didn’t have hands, didn’t have a gun. He had his head and he needed it to think quickly. 

He was not necessarily a smart man. He slammed his head forward and saw stars when they connected. It wasn’t great for the concussion he was sure he had, and his stomach rolled with each pulse of pain. The other guy wasn’t doing any better. 

Ryan moved back as the assailant sunk forward, knees hitting the dusty ground. And Ryan didn’t stop there. He kicked again, drove him completely to the ground. Once more for good measure, and the man was out for the count. 

There was a long beat of silence where Ryan stood over the body, watching the man breathe. He wanted to stop that, to end him. The dark, scary part of him knew how easy that would be. And the small, scared part of him wanted to run and hide forever. Because this man, whoever he was, knew Ryan. And that was so far from being a good thing.

They’d need to question him. Geoff would want to question him. Something about a plan. Something he couldn’t quite remember. His head ached, and he swayed where he stood.  _ Later,  _ he promised himself. Right now he needed to get home.

For the life of him, he couldn’t get his hands free. It was a tight knot, and squirming around didn’t seem to help any. All he was doing was cutting into his skin. On top of all his other injuries, it just wasn’t worth the frustration. He filed it away for later. One thing at a time.

There was no way in hell he was going to try to get home in his state. Concussed, bruised, and tied up wasn’t a great look in Los Santos. Which meant someone had to come to him, and he briefly regretted not telling anyone where he’d gone.

He sat down heavily next to the man in the hat, stole a quick glance to make sure he was still out, and dug into his pockets. Getting his phone out was easier than he thought. Navigating was harder. Since he couldn’t see, and there wasn’t anything particularly reflective around to help him, he settled for just mashing the screen in an approximation of what he wanted.

As soon as he heard it faintly ringing, he cranked the volume. Like hell was he gonna be able to get the damn thing on speaker. The few seconds it took for someone to pick up felt endless, and Ryan huffed in annoyance until a very chipper voice answered.

“Lovely Ryan,” Gavin cooed. “You never call.”

He snorted, because duh, and set the phone down behind him. Gavin kept talking, but Ryan wasn’t listening. He turned around and stomped, right next to the speaker. Three short, three long, three short again.

“Bugger me, that’s loud!” Ryan huffed again, loud enough for Gavin to hear on the other side. “Alright, calm down. I just wasn’t expecting it. Say again?”

He stomped the rhythm again, very deliberate, and he heard Gavin fumble on the other end.

“SOS, alright.” There was a sudden commotion on the other end, like everyone back at the base was suddenly trying to get at the phone. Multiple voices kept trying to talk over each other, and it was a little too much for him to keep up with at the moment. Quickly, he slammed his foot down again, and the other side died.

After a moment, Gavin’s voice was back. “Can you keep me on while I track you? Once for yes, two for no.” Everything in his tone shifted, and Ryan couldn’t help but smile. As much shit as they gave him, Gavin was one of the most reliable people in the crew. There was no doubt in his mind that Gavin would get him back.

He stomped once, and there was a sigh of relief.

Jack’s voice jumped in. “Are you hurt?” Ryan hesitated, and then very begrudgingly stomped once. “Do we need to bring medical?” Two stomps;  _ absolutely not. _

“You aren’t just saying that, are you?” Gavin jumped back in, and Ryan huffed. They probably should bring medical with them, if the slow way his shoulder bled was anything to go off of. But he was stubborn dammit, and he mostly just wanted his crew. A flurry of stomps;  _ fuck you. _

Gavin laughed, and Ryan relaxed against the wall. The crew’s voices were jumbled on the other side, but he’d stopped trying to pay attention. Something about tracking his cell and raising hell and all that. Typical crew. It was only a matter of time before that found him, and h was sure it was going to be a favorite joke for a while. And as fluffy as his head felt, he couldn’t help but be okay with it if it meant he could finally get some fucking sleep.

_ And answers,  _ he thought coldly, glaring hard at the mystery man. There was still something painfully familiar about him, he was sure about that. The when and the where kept getting away from him. He’d get his answers though, when the crew was done with him. The rise and fall of the prone man’s chest was a wonderfully dark promise of more to come.

“Ryan, how’d you end up at the docks?” There was Geoff, dragging him back to the phone. He couldn’t really reply, resorted to just drumming his feet at him. Geoff sighed, because duh, before continuing. “Am I gonna have to lay into you for this shit?” Two stomps;  _ please Geoff, me? I’m a model citizen. _

They were there quicker than he thought, or maybe he’d dozed off at some point. It was hard to say. His head hurt, the blood on his shoulder was dry and cakey, and there was even more drying on his chin. He was more than ready to go home, lie down, and sleep for eight years.

They must have been expecting worse because they crept in, guns drawn and dead serious. But it was just Ryan and his target, and he sagged forward in relief. Which, in hindsight, might not have been the right move. Suddenly they were all rushing forward to catch him. If he didn’t hurt so much, he would have laughed.

Geoff got there first, nearly falling to get to Ryan’s level. Strong, sure hands held him upright as someone started hacking through the thick rope around his wrists. Too many people were talking at once, and it’s not like he could have answered them anyways. Once his hands were free, he wiped furiously at the itchy blood on his face. Somewhere to his side, he heard Jack hiss in sympathy. And after a quiet moment, he looked up and waved.

“Hey bud,” Geoff smiled softly. “You look a little out of it.”

Ryan nodded and immediately regretted it. “Hit my head,” he signed slowly. “Hurts like a bitch.”               

“I bet,” Geoff chuckled, but it sounded a little too forced. He was trying to make himself be light, confident. But Ryan knew him, had seen him with the others anytime they got hurt. He was worried sick, no doubt about it, and a small guilty voice reminded him that it was his fault. “Wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

Ryan gestured with his boot over to the unconscious man. “Followed him and he got the drop on me.”

“Is he a job?”

“Been following us. He’s someone, I just-” frowning, he waved away the words. “I know him, but my brain’s shit right now.”

Geoff nodded and Ryan let his eyes closed for a moment, listening as everyone moved around him. There were fingers gently turning his head, probably Jack checking how bad it was. Geoff’s firm grip held his shoulders still, and Ryan basked in how grounding that was.

“Michael, you and Lil J stay here and make sure that fucker stays put. I’ll call in B-team to clean all this up and bag him.” He paused, turning to give his next order. “Help me get him to the car.”

He didn’t remember much after that, except a smooth ride home courtesy of Jack, and spending most of the dive with his head resting on Gavin’s shoulder. A warm arm around him, the only thing keeping him upright.  A soft voice next to his ear, asking questions he was too tired to answer. Just Gavin trying to fill the silence. He never really liked the quiet.

“I thought you said you didn’t need medical,” he chided, voice low and soft. Comfortable. Though Gavin always had that effect on him, made him feel safe and warm. He hummed back, shook his head slightly. He’d feel bad later for all the blood stains of his nice shirt. “You’ve been shot.”

“Graze,” he finger spelled sloppily, barely looking up.

Gavin scoffed. “Graze my ass. You’re covered in blood.”

“Graze,” he repeated, buried his face in his shoulder. Lazily, the threaded his fingers between Gavin’s. He was done talking.

There was a huff, and Gavin pulled him even closer. “You’re impossible sometimes.”

Ryan hummed again, comfortable against his Gavin, and was asleep before he knew it.

…

“Hey Boss, I’ve got something you might wanna see.”

He barely looked up from the papers on his desk, kept scratching little notes in tidy handwriting. Dark eyes flicked up briefly, enough for the man in the door to know he’d been heard. Maybe years ago he would have been intimidated by the silence, but it’d been too long for any of that. Besides, the laptop in his hands held too much good news for fear to ever cross his mind.

“I was reading the reports from last week, Sir. It’s mostly nothing. Your sister should be arriving tomorrow, and the weapons deal went off without a hitch. There’s been a bit of a scuffle over near-”

“I sincerely hope you’re not wasting my time on a routine report that very easily could have been emailed.” The older man looked up then, eyes hard as he stared the other man down. He swallowed, drumming his fingers against his warm laptop.

“It’s Davis, Sir. I got his report, and, well. Maybe you should review it.”

The older man frowned, reached out and gestured for the computer. There was a video, a wall of text, and a series of pictures lifted from various new sites. There was one of a helicopter taking off, a man hanging out the side with a rumpled suit and a lazy smile. Another showed some sort of security camera footage. Some gold moron smiling and waving while a woman laughed in the background. And another from a dashcam, shaky and grainy but the image was very clearly the Vagabond. There was hate in his eyes, staring down whoever he saw behind the wheel. There was chaos around him, but none of it seemed to faze him.

The video was a news report, some pretty, young thing standing in front of a blown out bank. Where there should have been heavy wooden doors, there was a gaping hole. The interior of the building was riddled with bullet holes and covered in shattered glass. She talked quickly, professionally, as she recounted what had happened.

“Police Chief Burnie Burns has yet to confirm whether or not the robbery here today was indeed the work of the notorious Fake AH Crew, or if the attack was in any way related to two similar incidents around the city. All attacks took place simultaneously, rocking the city in three corners. Witnesses here report see the Vagabond fleeing the scene this afternoon, but police have not yet confirmed-”

He paused her, scrolling down the read the text. A play-by-play of the heist, of the chase and a getaway. All the coordinated hits, all three escapes. The timing, the planning, the take. All of it seemed just a little too familiar, almost like-

“This is my heist,” he said finally after a long while. “I planned this years ago.” If he thought about it, he still had the plans somewhere. They’d been good, and it would have been one hell of a heist if they’d done it. His had been a little different though. More men, a bigger take. But fundamentally the same.

“We never ran it,” the other man nodded.

“It didn’t seem right, not after the boys…” He ran a hand down his face, scrolled back through the mess of information. They’d never done the heist and he’d almost forgotten all the time spent planning it. Long nights pouring over every detail, security and logistics and ordnance. Asking his boys what they thought and bubbling with pride when his oldest jumped in to solve a problem. It was their heist just as much as it was his.

He stopped on the pictures of the crew, stared hard at each and every one of them.

“No one should know about it, Sir. Not unless they were here.”

The man at the desk nodded, because it had to be that then. It had to be the exact person he’d spent ten long years tracking down. Right there, a breath away in sunny Los Santos. Just waiting to be found.

“There’s more, Sir.”

“Oh?”

“Davis missed his last check in.”

“Then he knows we’re coming. Get everyone in that city immediately. I’m not losing him again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about this chapter: I wrote it and completely forget that Ryan was supposed to be mute, so when I got the the point where he needs to call for help, I realized what a bind I put him in. 
> 
> This is a common problem we have here.


	7. Your Gravity Has a Hold on Me

The sun was warm where it streaked across the bed. It was a slow morning, one where he woke up without opening his eyes and just laid there for a while, face buried in his pillow. He felt sore, a pain blooming in his shoulder and blossoming behind his eyes. Maybe if he didn’t move, it’d all go away.

It was quiet, the only sound in the room was the gentle hum of the ceiling fan. And beyond that, something sizzling in a pan. Bacon, by the smell of it. Which didn’t strike him as odd until a minute later, when it dawned on him that he was in his bed, in his apartment, where he lived alone.

For a tense moment, he tried to put everything back together. Things were surprisingly clear for a while, despite all the trouble his head went through. It got fuzzy towards the end, and he barely remembered making it home. Just bits and pieces of the aftermath. Jack in his living room, pulling stitches through his shoulder. Geoff on the phone, pacing a hole in the floor as he gave orders Ryan didn’t quite catch. But he sounded mad, so maybe it was better he ignored it. And Gavin. Just, Gavin near him, soft and warm with fingers carefully threaded through his. 

He pulled himself up, ran a hand down his face. It felt like he’d been hit by a truck, but he did his best to shrug it off. All the fine scars across his body reminded him he’d been through much worse. So he got up, pulled a clean t-shirt over his head and cracked the door open just enough to peek through.

The apartment was small, and he could see straight into the kitchen from his room. And his heart did a funny little tumble as he watched Gavin move around, humming softly to himself as he stirred something in a pan. Eggs, by the mess of a carton next to him. And there was a plate of bacon ready to go.

It was a sweet gesture, but for some reason his stomach was all in knots.

Quietly, he padded up behind him, enthralled by how graceful Gavin moved around. It almost made the shitty kitchen look lovely. But then again, Gavin had a habit of brightening every room he was in.

He sat at the small little table and watched as Gavin killed the heat and divided breakfast onto two plates. He hummed as he worked, some absent-minded tune Ryan didn’t recognize. But it made him smile nonetheless. He turned, and jumped when he realized he wasn’t alone. The rush of red to his cheeks was rather endearing.

“If I’d known you were staying over, I would have stocked the fridge better,” Ryan signed easily.

Impossibly, his cheeks got redder. “It was Geoff’s idea.”

“Breakfast?”

Gavin scoffed as he moved forward, setting the plates gently between them. He tucked in slowly, and Ryan scooted his away. “Spending the night, you knob. Just in case.”

Ryan nodded. His head throbbed, and he tried to convince himself it was worth getting up to grab a diet coke. But Gavin was watching him, expression carefully neutral. “You drew the short straw”

“I volunteered.”

“Did you sleep on my couch? Because if you did, I’m real sorry. It’s a piece of shit.” It was a lumpy, second-hand couch he’d picked up for cheap after he’d moved in. It worked well enough, although he’d woken up stiff-necked anytime he passed out on it. Which was too often not to have replaced the damn thing by now. There was a stab of embarrassment at Gavin having seen it.

“I was going to,” and suddenly he was very interested in scooting his eggs around. “But, uh, you get kinda cuddly when you’re on painkillers.”

The small stab turned into a burning heat, and he wished it wasn’t weird to wear the mask to breakfast.

“I hope that was okay, because if not I’m-”

Ryan waved him off quickly, willing the blush to go away. It was fine, he told himself. Nothing weird about snuggling with your crewmate after getting the shit beat out of you. Perfectly normal. Hell, he’d ended up sharing a bed with the guys more ties then he cared to count. It shouldn’t have been different just because it was Gavin in his crappy bed. So then why was it?

Gavin cleared his throat, eyes scanning for anything to salvage their conversation. “You should eat that before it gets cold,” he settled on, when it was obvious Ryan hadn’t touched his food. “And you’ll need to eat if you want some painkillers.”

“I’m fine,” but they both knew that was a lie. He’d been through worse, sure. But getting shot still sucked, and his shoulder ached. Normally, he’d just brush it off, keep going forward despite it all. It wasn’t even that bad.

Evidently, Gavin thought otherwise. “Ryan,” he tried, and suddenly the table was very interesting. The lad huffed, ducked his head to catch his eye again. Who was Ryan to say no? “You should take something. You were shot last night!”

“I’m aware,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m also aware that it’s just a graze.”

“It didn’t look like a graze to me.” And there was the pouting, almost comical. Almost. But he knew better, knew how serious Gavin took injuries, especially Ryan’s. Apparently, constant self-sacrificing tendencies made people a little paranoid. Who knew?

When pouting didn’t work, he switched tactics. “Please, for me?”

There is was. A soft voice, dripping with sincerity and concern and Ryan would have to be heartless to say no.

“Fine, but nothing major.”

He was awful quick to jump up and dash away, calling over his shoulder, “We've got Steffie on standby, just in case.” Apparently he’d already prepared two small pills, and Ryan huffed in annoyance. People were starting to know him far too well for his liking. And overreacting because-

“It’s just a graze!” He signed back when Gavin returned. “Stop acting like this is the first time I’ve been shot. I’m okay.”

At least Gavin had the decency to look bashful. “You were just really out of it last night.”

“It happens,” and he tried his best to convey his seriousness, that he wasn’t joking or downplaying anything. That Gavin’s concern meant far more than he could ever say. “But I really am okay, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He hesitated, and Ryan watched him fiddle with his fork. “I just don’t like seeing you all hurt like that, is all.”

Ryan softened immediately, and that warm fluttery feeling quickened. The best part, hands down, of working for a crew- for the Fakes- was that. How fully and honestly they looked out for each other, how much they truly, actually cared. Especially Gavin. There wasn’t a person in the business he didn’t devote everything to. He cared and he showed it and Ryan loved that about him.

“I’m fine, I promise. Look, I’ll even take it easy for the next few days, if that’ll help.”

“It would actually.”

“Anything for you.”

They ate in silence for a while, and Ryan tried his hardest to stay in the moment, to enjoy a quiet morning with his favorite person. But yesterday kept creeping back into his head, repeating everything over and over. There was something important he was missing, something obvious his brain was trying to get him to realize. But the question then was what the fuck was all of that?

Broadly speaking, it was a threat. He’d thrown a wrench into something. Whoever that man was- and you bet your ass he was gonna get to the bottom of that one, one way or another- he wasn’t alone. Couldn’t have been. He wanted Ryan. No, he wanted the Vagabond. Ryan was a surprise. He hadn’t expected to see him there under the mask.

So who wanted the Vagabond? Nowadays, not many people went looking for the Masked Mercenary. Hell, he wasn’t even that anymore. Mercenary work ended the second Geoff offered him a home within the crew. And all the big time players at the time hated it. Must not have occurred to them to try and buy out the biggest name in freelance mayhem, but hey, their loss. But that still left the question of who wanted him. A small crew maybe? Some group who just never got the memo he was off the market?

They’d been watching him. Surely they would have noticed he didn’t freelance anymore. Everyone in the city knew that. So a newcomer then. Not native, not familiar enough with the city to care about crews.  A fan, maybe, from the days before the Vagabond settle down. Certainly he’d left his mark across the country. Any number of people could have heard about him.

Then the clue was the guy. A familiar face from somewhere, not important enough to remember. But he knew Ryan. Had they worked together then? A job maybe. Or another mercenary. Except no, that wasn’t right. He didn’t act like a merc. The guy was tough, no doubt about that, but he wasn’t a fighter. He was clumsy, obvious enough to have been caught in the first place. Brave enough to trail them on a heist, and one hell of a driver.

He could see him so clearly in an office, sitting casually on the other side of the desk. A big trench coat hanging from his shoulders, raindrops sparkling on its surface. Confident, something on the table between them. A report , but he blinked the memory away. The office seemed too small, too dark, too familiar.

So he’s an informant, Ryan thought, but even that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t have all the pieces, wouldn’t until he could get in there and pick him apart, figure out just how far back they went. Why he reminded him so much of lightning cracking above him, the slick road illuminated in a blinding burst of white. The gun doesn’t shake anymore, despite the fine tremor running through his body. There’s someone else there, down the road, and in that quick burst of light, he sees their face. And they open their mouth to speak over the rain.

The voice he heard isn’t right though, and he blinked to find Gavin staring at him from across the table. His plate was empty, and his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. Ryan hadn’t realized he’d been talking to him. 

“Ryan?” Gavin tried again, and Ryan couldn’t help the rush of red to his cheeks. He hadn’t been that spacey in years, since way before he met the crew. Hell, since even before the Vagabond existed. Must be the head trauma, he reasoned.

“Sorry,” he signed,” got lost in thought.”

“What about?” Gavin asked, a slight note of distrust in his voice. Great, gone and made him worry again.

“When is Geoff planning on questioning our guy?’

Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “You just told me you’re going to take it easy for a while.”

“It’s just a question.”

He shook his head, crossed his arms. “Nope, we’re not doing this.”

He tried his best to come off as exasperated. “Doing what?” 

“This!” And he gestured between the two of them. “I’m not changing my mind and I’m not helping you sneak some work in.”

“I just wanna know when Gav.”

“No,” the other man insisted, and the fire in his eyes betrayed how serious he was. It didn’t leave any room for argument, and Ryan didn’t feel like fighting, not now. But he needed to know.

If that guy knew about Ryan, what else did he know? Maybe about Georgia, about before everything? And if he did know, then who else? How many eyes and ears were turned on Los Santos now?

_None_ , he told himself. He hadn’t known about Ryan until he took the mask off. No one knew who was really under all the Vagabond gear, expect the crew. And he had to trust his crew.

He needed to stop. He’d followed that line of thinking a hundred times before. The clawing paranoia, the wondering and the what-ifs. They didn’t go anywhere, never had. If he let it sit for too long, he’d drive himself crazy and he’d drive himself away. He couldn’t do that now, not to the crew. It’d been too long to leave easily, not to mention the thought of abandoning them hurt more than anything. He didn’t need to go that far. He was fine. Everything was fine. 

“There’s no need to pout about it,” Gavin said, cutting through the fog rolling in Ryan’s mind. He’d gotten lost again, spiraling.

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.” He brushed him off, stood and started clearing the table. Can’t explain himself if he kept his hands busy. 

Of course, Gavin was no stranger to this tactic. And the quickest way to get Ryan talking again was to say something ridiculous. “Well, if you’re just gonna sit around and brood all night, you might as well have some company.” And there it was! The little tilt of Ryan’s head that betrayed he was listening even while he pretend he wasn’t. Gavin grinned. 

“I’m thinking you need a lad’s night!”

…

He didn’t know how it happened, because it was stupid and he certainly had better things to do. Like stay home and spiral and brood. Yes, certainly a better way to spend his Friday night. Instead, by some supernatural force, Gavin convinced him to actually go out. Didn’t help that for the rest of the day his phone was a mess of messages from the other two lads. And Trevor. And Lindsay. And finally one from Geoff that just said to get his “lazy ass dressed and out to the fucking club already.”

A rather compelling argument really.

So, despite a bullet hole and a mild concussion, Ryan found himself at the busiest club in town. Half the fucking city was there, dancing and drinking and cheering at god-knows-what. It wasn’t all bad though. Most everybody ignored him, and he found a relatively quiet corner to watch from.

He could feel the music hum through his body, rattling around his skull and drowning everything out. The neon pulse of the lights was blinding, and he kept catching glimpses of the lads through the haze of the club. Jeremy up at the bar, shot after shot, each frame a new color in the strobe lights. Michael on the dance floor, a drink slipping in his hands, screaming something above the music. It made the people around him screech in laughter, and Lindsay hung drunkenly off his back. Trevor somewhere in the back of the crowd, smooth talking a couple of guys into some bet they couldn’t possibly win.

And Gavin, in the middle of it all, hair catching the lights, twisting and distracting as everything shifted around him. Laughing his heart out, his cup spilling as much as he drank. Smiling, radiant and perfect and Ryan couldn’t help but track him as he danced around the room.

When he finally landed, there was pink flushed across his face, breathless as he giggled. Ryan could feel his heart pound in time to the music, filling his ears to the point he couldn’t hear what Gavin was saying. Which apparently didn’t bother the lad too much, as he reached out and dragged Ryan from his corner. Next thing he knew, he was out on the floor, swept up with everyone else.

Michael cheered drunkenly, slung his arm around his shoulder and pulled him in even farther. There might have been dancing, Ryan really couldn’t tell. But everyone was having a good time, and it might be contagious because for the first time all day, he let himself laugh. He wasn’t as far gone as the others were; in fact he wasn't gone at all. Wasn’t all that much of a drinker to start with. But he felt lighter, giddy almost, and Lindsay threaded herself in his arms. They danced, clumsy and joking and she stepped on his toes more times than he bothered to count.

Before he knew it, she twirled him, but the hands that caught him were rough. Gavin laughed and Ryan pulled him closer, into his own space. He was a better dancer then Lindsay, that’s for sure, but Ryan was sure the two of them looked ridiculous together. It didn’t matter. Gavin made his heart hammer, and his mind race, and he blamed it all on the atmosphere. He felt magnetic, like Ryan couldn’t do anything besides be pulled closer and closer, until the two of them felt indistinguishable from one another. As long as Gavin never left, Ryan didn’t think it was such a bad thing.

But then Gavin grinned, twisted them off balance and gave Ryan a shove backwards. He stumbled, by strong hands caught him, spun him around again, and through his laughter he heard Jeremy. His battle buddy led him over to the bar, but it wasn’t any quieter over there. There was just as much cheering as there was out on the floor, and the sound of drunken singing bounced off the walls.

There was a shot glass in his hand before he knew it. Jeremy held his up too, clear and watery and the pungent smell of alcohol rolled off it. Ryan’s was dark, bubbles lifting to the surface, artificially sweet.

“It’s Diet Coke!” Jeremy yelled over everyone, and Ryan laughed again, cheeks stinging with the force of his smile. “Go shot to shot with me!”

Obviously, he had to say yes, what with the eager way Jeremy knocked their glasses together.

His battle buddy held his own fabulously, especially considering Ryan was still stone cold sober with no chance of changing that anytime soon. It didn’t seem to faze the lad any, the smile still wide on his face, swearing and laughing and screaming along to the music. And it was infectious, the whole damn thing was. He laughed, and he signed big and loud along with the music, stumbling over the words. Jeremy followed along, his signs clumsy and off the mark, but he tried, excitedly singing to his battle buddy.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he turned his head to see Gavin. And he could feel his face light up, feel himself lean in closer to the other man. Maybe he’d normally be embarrassed, shy away in public. But here, in the loud and bright and giddy, he didn’t give a shit. And Gavin didn’t either, liquid courage pushing him farther then he’d normally go. He draped himself fully across Ryan’s shoulders, trying desperately to tell him some story or something. Ryan couldn’t hear him, and frankly he didn’t care. He was too wrapped up in everything. Watching his friends make fools of themselves, watching everything get light and warm. Watching Gavin.

It was a good enough distraction, and he lost himself fully in the fun of it all. It crept later and later, and eventually crept earlier and earlier. The full swing Friday night of Los Santos, and it just got louder and wilder as time passed. He danced, and he laughed, and he sat around watching his drunk friends try to figure out how to be human again. And he pulled towards Gavin always, like gravity, as he settled in next to his side. Comfortable and safe. He was distracting enough for Ryan to just let himself have one night of fun before everything came back.

It did, of course. Just one text from Geoff when he stumbled home, all his energy wiped away. He barely read it before launching himself into bed, determined to sleep like the dead until at least noon the next day.

**_From Geoff: Interrogation tomorrow. Be ready._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I'm really sorry about the long pause between updates (and also for the update to be kinda short). School ended, and I lost my writing time for a while there. And then there was the holidays and all that, and everything just got a little off the rails.
> 
> Not to mention I'm awful at writing fluffier chapters, but they're important. 
> 
> Anyways, here's to hoping I don't wait another 2 months between updates! (I shouldn't. The next two chapters are basically done, and also some of my favorites for the whole story)


	8. Waiting for the Opportunity to Knock Me Awake

Interrogations didn’t happen at the penthouse. Too many people, too many variables. And too loud, depending on what went down. No, the Fakes were smarter than that. Geoff had a little safe house out near Chiliad set aside for such an occasion.

From the outside, it was a normal cabin. Small, quaint, a cute little patio with a bench swing. Hell, even the inside was kinda nice. A cozy kitchen, and a well-kept living room. The cellar was the kicker. Past a couple mostly empty shelves was a thick metal door. And behind that was the workshop.

Ryan was very familiar with the workshop; He’d helped design it after all. A pegboard on one wall, littered with tools and wicked looking knives, some handles stained dark red from where they weren’t properly cleaned. A sink in one corner, a bucket and messy rags to its side. A drain in the center, discolored like everything else. A metal table with two sturdy chairs on each side.

They didn’t use the place much really. The Fakes weren’t into torture or anything. Most of the time, the people who needed to talk started spilling the beans the second the Vagabond walked in. The crew may not have had a reputation for extreme violence, but he was a different story. Almost all of it exaggerated, but with enough mystery that one was never quite sure how far he was willing to go.

There was a speaker hidden in one of the walls, and the crew could listen upstairs. It was a rule, someone in the room and someone listening in. If things got to interrogation levels, then they needed to make sure they didn’t miss a thing. And this time was no different. The man in the hat was sitting in a chair, wrists chained to the table. He wasn’t completely restrained, had a little bit of freedom, but he couldn’t leave.

Jack took point on watching him, which wasn’t really a terrible gig. As far as prisoners went, he wasn’t half bad. Kept to himself, kept quiet. Hadn’t tried any daring escapes or to make contact with anyone. At some point he'd asked if his room included a meal, and when he didn’t get an answer, grumbled and slept uneasily with his face against the desk. Even asked nicely if he could take a leak, and thanked Jack when she obliged. Aside from that, he waited, eyeing up the camera in the corner, fully aware that he was being watched. If it bothered him, he did a damn good job of hiding it.

It was just the Gents for the initial questioning. The Lads would show up once they crawled out of bed and got their hangovers in check. Ryan was sure they wouldn’t want to miss much. After all, it was an honor to watch the Kingpin work.

Jack was lounging on the sofa, the camera feed from downstairs playing on the TV. She hadn’t slept, dark circles under her eyes, a scowl across her face. It was a marked difference from his time with the lads, all the fun and distraction and excitement. Here, everything was somber and serious and he hesitated at the door.

She didn’t look up as he entered, settled himself against the wall to wait for Geoff. There was an ache in his shoulder, but he shoved it away. It would die down in a couple days, and without Gavin forcing him to, he’d skipped any painkillers. There was still a slight fogginess in his head, a tiredness he couldn’t quite shake. Concussion symptoms should fade in two weeks, and he resolved to simply not worry about it. There was nothing to be done, so no use complaining. Still, it made him a little grumpy, and he could already feel his short fuse unwinding.

It was a good thing Geoff finally emerged from the back. He was starting to get antsy, and antsy never led to good things. Jack looked up finally, smoothed a hand through ginger curls as she entered work mode. Just like with Ryan or with Gavin, Jack Pattillo had as strong a work persona as the rest of them. Aggressive but tactical, fierce in every move she made. More quiet, but no less deadly than the rest. Her reputation was well-deserved, and the city waited with bated breath for her next move. Ryan was just glad he was on her team.

But it was right to work, and Geoff looked each of them up and down before he spoke. “I’m taking point, but I want Ryan in there with me.”

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a good idea?” Which, _first off, rude._ It wasn’t unheard of to have Ryan as part of interrogations. Hell, it was practically a requirement nowadays. He didn’t like it, wouldn’t mind sitting one out eventually, but he’d long accepted it was part of the job. The Vagabond was a scary son of a bitch and the Fakes knew how to use him. The idea that Jack wouldn’t want him in on this one sat uneasily with him.

Geoff shrugged easily, practiced laziness in the movement. But he was tense, anyone who knew him could see it. The whole thing was sitting wrong with him. “Rye said he knew him.”

“So who is he?” She turned to Ryan, and maybe it was both parties being more tired than usual, but her words were cold and he resisted the urge to come back on the defensive. He didn’t fight with his crew.

“He’s an informant or something,” he signed back easily. It was the best he could give them for now.

“Burnie?”

He shook his head at Geoff’s question. “He’s definitely a bad guy. I’ve worked with him before, I think.”

Jack hummed quietly, drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch. “Must have gone to shit then.”

“I can’t really remember.” Ryan shrugged, swallowing back another flash of annoyance. “I think I just had him write me a report or something.”

Geoff frowned at that. “I didn’t think the Vagabond has reports.”

“He doesn’t.”

“So this is before?” There was a hesitance to his words, and he almost cringed back as he spoke them.

Ryan didn’t react, which wasn’t too odd. He stared past Geoff, eyes quickly flicking to the door. It happened before he could stop it. A clear path, a way to escape if he needed to. He didn’t, he kept telling himself. It was fine. Things were just starting to hit too close to home, all things considered.

Thank god Jack broke the silence, clearing her throat. “So how do you wanna handle this?”

He blinked a few times, tried to get his head clear. Right, he was here to do a job. “He wants the Vagabond, not me. I wanna know who’s trying to get my attention. Once I get a name, I don’t need him anymore.”

Geoff shook his head. “That might be enough for you, but I want more.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I wanna find out everything this fucker knows.”

“Yeah, and if we get a name, I’ll know where to go next.” Ryan shot back, still leaned back casually against the wall.

He didn’t expect the quick flare of anger from his boss. “You aren’t doing anything after this.” Geoff was up in an instant, voice loud in the soft room. Ryan tried not to flinch back, and tried just as hard not to snap either. The boss wasn’t exactly quick to anger. Sure he was frustrated easily, and he could be riled up with ease. But actual anger directed at one of his own? As rare as they come.

“Geoff-“Jack started, but he waved her off.

“You aren’t making another move until I tell you too.” He glared daggers at Ryan, who blinked owlishly back for a moment.

And then he snapped.

“I know what I’m doing, Geoff. He’s not the first guy to come after the Vagabond.” And he wasn’t. Plenty of people had tried before. He’d taken them all down in the end, been the last man standing enough to know the drill. And he didn’t need Geoff to tell him how it’s done.

Geoff scoffed, and Ryan scowled. “Sure you do. Like how the other night you had it handled.”

“I did!”

“You were half-dead when we pulled up.”

“I wasn’t half-dead! A little roughed up maybe, but I was fine.”

Geoff leveled him with a glare, and there was enough heat there for Ryan to pause, his hands still up like he had more to say. But Geoff spoke first. “I never want to get a call like that again, do you hear me?” Each word was punctuated with a step forward, until the two of them were nearly chest to chest. Geoff wasn’t much shorter than Ryan, but he seemed huge in the moment. Or maybe Ryan just felt small, like a kid being lectured by his dad. It made his stomach twist, and he could imagine how easy it would be to turn around and walk away.

He never did handle conflict well.

“The other night was a fluke.” His signs were sharp, hard, and he narrowed his eyes dangerous at the man before him. Somewhere to the side, Jack shuffled, no doubt getting ready to intervene. But he could take both of them if he needed. He didn’t want to, but he could.

“The other night was terrifying,” and there was the slightest break to his voice that suddenly made all the anger building up shatter into a million little pieces. Ryan froze, let his hands sink down, and Geoff kept talking. There wasn’t anger this time. Just hurt. “We didn’t know where you were, or how bad you were hurt, or what the hell had even happened. Fuck dude, I still don’t have the full story out of you. I don’t know who this guy is, or what he wants, or what he was going to do with you if you hadn’t gotten away.”

“I would have been fine,” Ryan signed softly. “I had it under control.”

“You don’t act alone anymore. That was part of the deal. You join the Fakes, and you rely on us to be a team.”

Ryan was quiet a moment, eyes locked with Geoff. All the heat and animosity washed away, and he looked away. The crew looked out for each other; he knew that, loved that. And he didn’t forget it. He felt it in everything they did, every time they were together. Hell, it’s what kept him around for so long in the first place. Someone had bothered to care about the Vagabond, and the person underneath the mask. That hadn’t happened in nearly a decade.

So he hadn’t forgotten the deal he made when he signed up. The Vagabond had a crew behind him finally, and that meant they were always behind him. No lone-wolf bullshit. No noble sacrifice.

“Sorry,” Ryan signed, dragging his eyes back up to show that he meant it, really meant it. Wasn’t just saying it to get Geoff off his back.

He nodded, reached out and patted Ryan’s shoulder a few times. They didn’t say more, didn’t really have to. Whatever moment that passes between them silently righted the whole situation. Everything forgiven. A blank slate.

Jack gave them a second before clearing her throat. “So we doing this or what?”

Geoff smiled, crooked and malicious and Ryan couldn’t help but get a little excited. It wasn’t everyday Geoff let him be as scary as he wanted. “Let’s teach this asshole not to mess with the Fakes.”

…

The room was cold, and it was like walking into winter. The Vagabond was glad for the jacket around his shoulders, the bright white and blue stripes snug around his arms. It felt good, powerful, and he grinned behind his mask. He’d gone all out for the interrogation, a full face of immaculate paint on behind the smiling skull, just in case. The guy in the chair wasn’t gonna get a second look at his bare face, not if he could help it. He trusted Geoff enough to know that wouldn’t happen, but age old paranoia told him to be careful. Mistakes tended to happen when people started getting too comfortable.

Geoff took the chair across from their hostage, and the Vagabond took up position over his right shoulder. There was a knife on his belt. And a gun in arms reach. And another few knives hidden along his person. Again, he was prepared. Their guy sat with all the confidence in the world, arms resting on the table, legs sprawled. He grinned, cocky as shit and Ryan couldn’t wait to wipe that smile off his smug little face.

But he’d wait for his cue.

“Alright buddy,” Geoff started as he leaned back in his chair, not a care in the world as he kicked his feet up on the table. The guy’s smile didn’t falter, not a single flinch. But his shoulders tensed minutely for just a second. If Geoff saw, he didn’t make a comment, just kept inspecting the tattoos along his fingers. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re not just gonna tell me everything I wanna know. Right?”

“Right,” The man responded, a smug little twinkle in his eyes. Ryan hated it. Ryan hated him.

“At least give me a name here,” Geoff said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t wanna spend this whole session calling you ‘that fucker in a hat.’”

The man tensed again. It was just a moment, and then his composure came right back, cocky and confident. But it was enough for Ryan. He couldn’t school his emotions, which meant he’d spent more time on the other side of the table. He wasn’t used to being questioned.

They could work with this.

“Fucker it is!” Geoff declared when he got no answer, twirling his hand in the air with a flourish. Ryan caught on, and the Vagabond began his slow stalk around the table. Fucker’s eyes jumped to his the moment he took his first step, impossibly quiet despite everything. They didn’t leave as the Vagabond moved, his own blue eyes locked onto his prey. The man didn’t want to move his head, didn’t want to give Geoff any opening, but he was caught. He had to pick which he was more afraid of; the Kingpin or his guard dog.

His head stayed in place, but his shoulder rose and his legs began to inch closer to his seat as Ryan disappeared behind him. Smart move, if he believed the rumors about Geoff any. Ryan had more myths then he could count, but Geoff just had a few, and they were backed up by ruthless facts. He earned his place atop the city’s food chain.

The man grit his teeth. “It’s Detective, if you have to know.”

“Alright Detective,” and he clapped his hands as he righted himself. The detective flinched the moment Geoff’s shoes hit the ground, and the Vagabond took a step closer. If he hadn’t had the mask on, the other guy would have felt breath on the back of his neck. It’d be a dangerous move if the detective got free any, but boy did it unnerve people. _Worth it._ “So here’s how it’s gonna work; I’m gonna-”

“Actually, if you’d be so kind,” The man interrupted, stupidly mustering some courage despite himself, and Ryan’s hand twitched against his knife. The Kingpin didn’t move, but his sleepy eyes hardened, and his lip twitched ever so slightly. “I can save us both a lot of trouble if you let me talk with the Vagabond.”

If he didn’t have the mask on, the whole room would have seen his brows furrow and his mouth twist in a frown. People didn’t talk to the Vagabond. They talked at him an awful lot, talked about him even more. But they didn’t normally want to talk with him. Things tended to be a little one-sided, after all.

And even if this guy wanted the Vagabond, he’d need to go through Geoff still. Ryan didn’t handle his own contracts anymore.

“No. You talk to me.” And his words here like iron, cold and sharp. He wasn’t fucking around anymore.

The Vagabond moved quickly, slapping the guy’s hat off his head and sending it flying across the room. No one bothered to look where it landed. Dark gloved fingers tangled in sandy-colored hair, twisting painfully until he relented and leaned his head back. He strained to maintain eye contact with Geoff, and his breathing picked up a fraction as they waited for what to happen next.

“Now I want you to shut up and listen,” Geoff spoke evenly, relaxing back in his chair, but he maintained his eye contact. “You’ve been following my crew. I wanna know for how long. And if you tell me nicely, then I won’t have the Vagabond start taking pieces.” On cue, Ryan whipped out his knife, the blade glinting in the uneven light of the room. It fit so nicely against his throat, the sharp edge digging in just enough to make him bleed. A thin rivulet of red ran down his neck, stained the collar of his rumpled button up.

“I didn’t come to talk to you, Ramsey,” he huffed unevenly, venom dripping off his words. Geoff nodded, and Ryan moved in a flash. The knife was pulled away roughly, a little nick left in its place that bled more steadily. The strong hand in his hair jerked him forward, and the detective’s face crashed into the table in front of him with a bang. There was an audible crack, and when the Vagabond jerked him back up, there was blood all around his nose. He swore, and the hand tightened in his hair.

“How long?” Geoff asked again, cool and calm, like this was routine for them.

Through ragged breathing, the man spat, a glob of bloody saliva landing in the middle of the desk between them. Ryan growled low in his throat, and the color melted from the detective’s face. Geoff nodded again, and the Vagabond crashed his victim’s face into the table again. This time, the guy couldn’t hold back his painted grunt, and he came away sticky with more blood.

“A time, Detective.” Geoff’s ink-covered arms crossed over his chest, chair tinted back on the back two legs. Ryan caught his eye, got the signal. He held the detective steady, gloved hand still holding tight to his hair.

The man huffed angrily, snarled and showed blood covered teeth. The very front one was chipped ever so slightly. “A few weeks,” he growled. “Around the time your boys botched the jewelry store robbery.”

The Kingpin hummed, drummed fingers against his arms. He already knew that. Matt would have pulled the security footage and seen all the times he stalked around their building. And if he wanted to, and he probably had, he could have searched through the city’s cameras and pulled that too. They probably knew the exact second he crossed into Fake territory. Honesty was a good sign though.

“You attacked one of my crew,” his tone was matter-of-fact, and the guy across the table recoiled slightly. “Now only an idiot would have done that. You wanna tell me why?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” the detective panted. “I want to talk to him.” He jerked his chin towards Ryan. Frantically, his eyes jumped away from Geoff for just a second, stared up at the bright baby blues of the Vagabond. There was something there, barely beyond his reach. That same flash of recognition washed over him.

He thought of a dark little office and stiffened his shoulders.

Geoff rocked back on his chair again, and the Vagabond followed the silent command. As quick as he had thrown him forward, he tipped him back. A strong boot kicked the chair out from under him, and the detective went crashing to the ground. He groaned as his arms pulled, limited by the short chuffs to the table. Before he could right himself, the Vagabond brought his boot down, held him down firmly by the leg. If he wanted to, and he really thought about it, he could snap the bone like a twig.

“If this is going to be a problem, then we can just-”

“My boss is gonna be in the city soon,” he called over Geoff’s irate voice and the room went silent except for the detective’s ragged breathing. He had their attention. “I missed my check in, and he’s gonna know why. He’ll want a meeting.”

Geoff didn’t respond. One finger twitched against his elbow.

The Vagabond didn’t hesitate, drew his wicked knife back up. The blade fit smoothly against the knuckle of the detective’s index finger, right where the finger met the hand. _Metacarpophalangeal joint_ , if memory served. The detective whimpered, and the Vagabond put just the littlest bit of pressure on it. The thin skin broke easily, and the man started to babble.

“I’m just supposed to offer him a job! That’s it, nothing else, I promise.” He stared wide-eyed up at Ryan, pleading silently until more pressure was added. Another whimper passed his lips, and he shook his head. “I’m just the middle man here. You get that, right?” He was talking directly to the Vagabond. “I’m just supposed to set up a meeting.”

Geoff brought all the legs of his chair back down, and he rose slowly. Hands on the table, he leaned forward enough to see the man on the ground. His gaze was hard, fury visible in every inch of his body. His lips curled into a sneer as he glared down at his prey. “Tell me what kind of job, and I’ll let you keep that finger.”

His response was instantaneous. “He wants someone found!” And he looked back up at Ryan, something strange in the way he looked at him. Sad, in a weird way. “I didn’t know it was you under there,” he rasped, barely audible, but Ryan caught it.

“The Vagabond’s not for hire.” There was ice in Geoff’s words.

“He’s not gonna take no for an answer.” Fear crossed the detective’s eyes, like the fury of his employer trumped the fear he felt there, in a room with two of the most dangerous men in the city. Something clicked in Ryan’s head, pieces falling slowly together.

A dark office, with thick curtains drawn and the sound of a distant storm. A report on the table, the details fuzzy and unclear, unimportant. But the man across from him, confident and cocky, his big trench coat hanging from his shoulders. Raindrops dripped steadily onto the carpet, and he kept having to swallow back his annoyance. No respect for another man’s carpet. And the sense that whatever was on that sheet of paper was about to ruin everything they’d worked towards for so goddamn long.

The boss wouldn’t be happy, and that one thought sent a sharp stab of panic through Ryan’s chest.

Hands slammed on the table, and the man jumped. There was no denying the fury that rolled off the Kingpin. It made something warm settle in Ryan’s chest, barely noticed over the phantom touch of panic, seeing how far Geoff went when his own were in danger. “Yeah, well he went about shit in about the stupidest way possible. So you can tell your boss to back the fuck off my crew and my territory before I teach him why no one messes with the Fakes.”

That didn’t sit well with the detective, and despite having the Vagabond’s boot and knife on him, he tried to get up. Ryan pressed down on instinct alone, dangerously close to breaking bone. He whined frantically, and his head swiveled between the two of them, like he was hoping they’d finally understand the severity of the situation he was in. And by the way his own chest tightened, Ryan did. “At least met with him. Hear him out.”

“Just who the fuck is he?” Geoff leaned over more, and even Ryan wanted to flinch back from the way he looked at the detective. Pure hatred, seething just below the surface.

He thought of a report on his desk, words out of focus, but a name clear at the bottom.

“William Ki-“and his words stopped there.

It happened in a flash, before anyone could move to stop it. A knife clattered to the table, a boot brought down so hard that bone split like dry wood. The detective screamed, Geoff swore as he dived forward. And then there was a shot, impossibly loud in the small room.

Ryan breathed hard behind the mask, his arm pointed down and his gun smoking. It’d been so swift, and the bullet buried itself in the man’s forehead before Geoff could blink. Cold eyes watched the blood splatter on the cold ground. Neither man moved for a while, a heavy silence broken only by Ryan’s uneven breathing. Time slowed, and it felt like an eternity he stood there watching red pool under his shoes.

“Ryan, what the fuck?” He barely heard Geoff’s voice over the ringing. The gunshot was loud, but he was used to loud. The gunshot didn’t make his head swim, but he felt lightheaded, unstable. He needed to sit down but his legs didn’t want to work. Something clawed at this throat, pressing and holding until he gasped around it. Panic washed through his body and he let his gun clatter to the ground.

He couldn’t breathe, some crushing awful force holding tight to his lungs. He gasped around it. He needed to breathe.

Geoff moved around the table, headless of all the slippery blood everywhere. The Kingpin looked at him with wide eyes, all his previous anger gone. Just like before when they’d argued outside. Now they were just big, concerned, watching as the Vagabond wrapped a shaky hand around his own throat and whined.

He needed to run. The door was locked, always was during interrogations. Someone would need to let him out. He needed out. He couldn’t breathe.

Geoff was staring at him. Geoff knew. Geoff has heard the name.

He needed to run.

“Ryan, you with me?” The Kingpin was trying to get him to look at him, but he couldn’t make his eyes focus. They kept darting over the body on the floor. He had a name. He knew his name. He knew him. And if Roger Davis had found him, and Roger Davis knew where he was, then the others did too by now.

Geoff knew.

“Somethings wrong.” It took a minute to realize he wasn’t talking to Ryan anymore. _The speaker in the corner_ , Ryan thought hazily. Jack was coming. Jack would ask what happened. Jack would know.

He needed to run.

It only felt like seconds, but the door opened behind him, and he whipped around to see Jack enter. She looked concerned and he felt sick. She’d seen what he’d done, how he’d reacted. She was probably already on her way down by the time Geoff called her. She’d seen the whole thing, heard everything. She knew.

The lads were behind her, because of course they were. When had they gotten in? No one had told him, not even one little sign to let him know how popular his show had gotten. But they were there now, crowded in behind Jack. And each face was the same wash of concern, blurring together until he couldn’t distinguish them.

Everything was wobbly and out of focus, except Roger Davis. His face was crystal clear, twisted and oddly calm at the same time. The strangest death mask he’d seen in a while. It hurt, just a little. He’d liked him, back before everything, before the two of them picked their sides.

Too many people knew.

“Ryan, honey, you need to breathe.” Jack said, her voice far away, but right up close at the same time. His brain felt like it was working overtime to process what she was saying, like a computer struggling to load the next screen.

Breathe. He needed to breathe. When did he stop breathing?

There were hands around the mask, prying it off his face. He could breathe better without it. It clattered to the floor, the hard plastic impossibly loud. He hoped it missed the worst of the blood puddle. It cleaned up easy enough, but there was something deeply unsettling about having a former friend’s blood splattered across his second face. As soon as it was gone, he sucked in a lungful, wishing it felt better. It needed to feel better. Jack smiled at that, and he took another.

“That’s it Rye, just breathe.” Thumbs stroked his cheeks while she held his face, forcing him to look her in the eye. Why was it so hard to look her in the eye?

He wanted to look at the body. He knew him, knew how he knew him. It was Georgia, always Georgia. Every awful, terrible thing was from Georgia.

There was a summer storm and blinding headlights and a dark voice in his ear asking that same goddamn question.

_William King._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: When I started writing this chapter, it was one of, if not, the shortest chapter thus far. And then I decided to overhaul the entire interrogation scene. So now it's the second longest, only after chapter 2 (which has the first sort of interrogation/questioning/threatening scene)
> 
> I just think they're neat.


	9. Meet Me inside

Ryan was hard to find when he wanted to be. And right about then, with his whole world slowly tipping sideways, he wanted to disappear completely and never turn back up.

There were stars above Chiliad, twinkling softly as the moon rose higher and higher. Everything was illuminated in a faint glow, and the city sparkled beneath him. From a distance, Los Santos wasn’t a bad looking place. It sprawled, and it glowed brighter than the sun even in the dead of night. But there was something very comforting about the amount of stuff he could see. Towering buildings and headlights on the highway, dark patches of suburbia quietly tucking themselves into bed. It had taken a while to adjust to it all when he first started living in big cities. Where he could drive ten minutes and see something completely new, where there was more than just large expanses of nothing around him. People everywhere, living and breathing and smiling despite themselves.

It hurt to think about leaving.

It always did, in those dark moments he let his mind wander. But it was just paranoia, he told himself, like that mantra was the only thing keeping him rooted. But now, it didn’t seem like paranoia. No. William King was looking for him. William King was looking at Los Santos. And if he caught Ryan- if he found him and wrapped his greedy little hands around him- then everything he’d worked for, everything he’d suffered for, would be for nothing.

William King couldn’t find Ryan.

There were a hundred thousand places to hide in a city like Los Santos. He could go out to Blaine County, or disappear for a while in Del Perro, find a little hole in Vinewood and camp out until everything blew over. But in each one Ryan couldn’t help but imagine King and his men raiding the place. Everything ran red. Everything died. All because of him. They’d leave a massacre just to get to him again. He couldn’t let that happen.

Anxiety tickled his throat, and he sighed into it. He felt too tired to panic anymore, too tired to run. He’d gone a long way to get away from the crew, a winding path through the area, only to end up right back where he started. They’d let him, didn’t know how to react when he snapped and tore himself away from Jack, eyes wild and frightened.  He could still see the hurt on her face as he pushed past her, past everyone. And then he was gone, and Ryan was very hard to find if he put his mind to it.

No doubt the crew would track him down eventually. He wasn’t being as sneaky as he usually would be. Hell, he’d been up on Chiliad for the better part of three hours, staring mindlessly at the lights as the sun set around him. Instinct told him he should keep moving, always move, don’t stop, not even to breathe. He could breathe when he was safe. And his past experience said to leave, abandon everything and get the hell out of dodge. There were more cities, more money elsewhere. The Vagabond was never at a loss for work. But if King was looking for the Vagabond, maybe it was time for the Vagabond to retire.

If he stopped being him, adopted another face and another name, King would have to start from square one. He could pick a new mask, a new paint pattern. Different clothes, different weapons, different style. Go back to silent assassin work, hiding in the shadows and picking his prey off before they even knew he was there. No one would know it was him.

The thought sat heavily in his stomach. King had found the Vagabond, so who’s to say he wouldn’t find anyone else Ryan built. If he was in the business, if he was making any waves in the water, he could be found. Of course, he could lie low, be a run-of-the-mill thug again. There was probably enough money saved up for him to survive a while, but he’d run dry quick if work was slow. There was a reason he’d built up his name so much. It wasn’t a life of luxury, but he had enough to be comfortable, to be able to do what he wanted when he wanted.

And he’d get bored, he was sure of it. The initial plan with the Vagabond was just money, enough to get by, enough to keep moving. But he’d gotten bored with standard jobs. Easy targets and cheap takes only got him so far. He liked thinking, liked working hard for his money. Routine never quite cut it, not when there was so much chaos and mayhem to look forward to, to make him feel alive. He didn’t want to feel dead again.

It was Jeremy who found him first.

He wasn’t being stealthy, probably wasn’t the best idea to startled Ryan right then. Not with how uneven his breathing had been or how much his hands trembled when he’d run away. Ryan wasn’t the kind of person who appreciated being snuck up on, no matter how fragile his state of mind might or might not be. The rest of the crew were all very careful around him, like they were afraid any little mishap would send him spiraling back to the way things were before. Back before they had his name and his face and his trust.

Jeremy didn’t have that problem. He wasn't worried about going back to a life with the silent Vagabond, mainly because the Vagabond had never been silent around him. Jeremy joined after him, a good while after him, and by that point he was more Ryan than anything else. His walls were already weak, and even though he’d tried the whole Masked Mercenary routine on the new recruit, it didn’t stick. It was way too easy to let Jeremy meet Ryan. And god, they hit it off immediately.

Jeremy lived for chaos, most of the crew did. But Jeremy lived for the same mayhem that Ryan did. They fell in sync quicker than anyone else, despite the language barrier. Jeremy hadn’t known sign language when he joined, so he’d just learned to read Ryan. The way he moved, how he held himself, little movements no one else bothered to pick up on. He could tell in a flash if Ryan was itching to get out, get rid of all his pent up energy in the most explosive ways possible. He could tell when he needed quiet, or when he needed the room to be filled with sound. Or when he just needed someone to sit close and listen to the words he never said.

And with his feet dangling off the cliff edge, eyes far off and foggy, Jeremy knew he needed someone to listen to him.

Quietly, he sat next to him, making himself comfortable in the dirt. Ryan didn’t look over, didn’t show that he knew Jeremy was there at all. Except that he tilted his head just slightly, turning the littlest bit closer to Jeremy. He was listening, even if he didn’t show it, or didn’t show any interest in talking back, hands held firmly in his lap. A sharp knife was passed between his fingers, over and over, rhythmic and consistent. A nervous tick he’d always had.

The lad followed his eyes, out onto the sea of shimmering lights. He’d lived in cities his whole life, spent years wandering around surrounded by buildings and people and life. It didn’t seem as special as maybe Ryan thought it was. It just looked like home, and even though it wasn’t anything incredible, it made Jeremy’s heart settle. _Maybe Ryan thought it looked a bit like home too_ , he hoped as he turned back to face the gent. Ryan still didn’t look ready to talk, and Jeremy tried not to sigh as he steeled himself. Looks like he was carrying the conversation for a while.

It seemed easiest to just start with the facts. No pretense or wind up or drawing it out longer than necessary. Ryan liked that, liked the bluntness and the honesty. Or at least, he always did when they worked together.

“What happened in there?” Jeremy asked gently. He was so soft, weirdly at odds with how brash he normally was. Ryan hated that he thought he needed to be gentle with him. He hated that he was right.

He stared down at the knife in his hands. He didn’t remember picking it up, didn’t remember when he’d started spinning it. But the metal was cool against his fingertips and somewhere distantly he wondered when he’d taken his gloves off. The jacket was gone too, and he could feel the paint on his face all smudged around. He probably looked like a mess. He probably looked too much like Ryan.

His mind still felt like cotton, miles and miles of cotton. There were important things in there, thoughts that moved too slowly to come to fruition. It was infuriating, or it would have been if he weren’t too goddamn tired to care. He just wanted to sleep.

Jeremy sighed, and he shifted around next to him. With what felt like a gargantuan amount of effort, Ryan looked over at his battle buddy. There was a distance between them, carefully measured to keep them together but enough room left for Ryan to breathe. Couldn’t crowd him, not now.

“Whenever you’re ready Ryebread.”

Shakily, he took a breath, held it for a moment, and let it out as even and slow as he could manage. He set the knife down with steadier hands then he thought he had. Or maybe they were too tired to shake anymore. Everything felt thick and fuzzy but he looked up all the same, turned finally to talk to Jeremy.”

“I,” he started and stopped. How much did he actually want to say? How much was enough to get the point across? “We don’t deal with King.”

Jeremy raised his eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Ryan continued. “I don’t care what he wants, or how much he’s offering.” There was still that steady thrum of panic running through him, but the more he signed, the more he felt something else grow. Anger, boiling up from the center of his being. Rage and fury and hate building up until his fingers trembled again, but for a different reason. “We don’t work with him.”

“Who is he?”

“A sick son of a bitch.” The words were harsh, and even Jeremy could feel the venom there. “You guys get him out of this city as soon as possible or I’ll-“ he stopped himself, balled his hands into fists.

Or he’d what? Leave? This was home, with his family and his friends and everything he never thought he’d get. It’d be hell to walk away from. 

But it was King.

Jeremy just nodded, calm as ever. He signed along when he replied verbally, which was very sweet despite everything. Right hand flat, palm up. His other hand straight, almost a little bouncing movement to it. And it was doubled, just like Ryan had taught him. “Alright.”

Ryan blinked owlishly back at him, all the rage leaving his eyes. “Alright? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” He retorted, as if there never was any other option. “If this is that important to you, then we’ll tell him to get the fuck out of our city.”

Ryan shook his head, could feel that same panic start to rise. The same fear that kept him running, kept him alert and moving, that created the Vagabond. Because he couldn’t face King, not after everything that’s happened between them, between all three of them. Not after what King had done to him. He needed that man gone, away forever where he could never get his hands around Ryan ever again. “It won’t be enough.”

Jeremy wasn’t having any of it. He shook his head just as firm, took Ryan by the hand even, so he couldn’t argue back. And there was fire in his brown eyes when he spoke, his voice strong and confident in the way all the crew was. “We’re not gonna let him, Ryan. We’ll make it enough.”

…

It was a long drive back to the Penthouse to meet back up with the others. Jeremy was at the wheels, so Ryan spent most of it with his head pressed against the cold window, finally pulling everything together. He could remember that day with Davis, he might regret that day for the rest of his life.

The office was dark, heavy curtains drawn to stifle the weak sunlight fighting through the thick cloud layer. There was a storm brewing, rolls of far off thunder filling the silence around him. They needed the rain, always did in the summer, but he couldn’t help the sinking feeling he got in his gut. Storms brought nothing but a big mess, and with their heist coming up, he knew he’d have one hell of a clean up to get it in working order again.

He couldn’t afford to mess this up. They were so close to something here, _he_ was so close to something. If it worked out, if they actually pulled it off, maybe the boss would hope off his back for a minute. That is, if the detective didn’t bring more bad news when he threw open the door with a flourish.

Davis was always the dramatic sort, like his whole life was one long film noir. They’d only worked together a handful of times, and almost never face to face, but already the detective’s strangeness wore Ryan down. He wasn’t a bad guy, and Ryan didn’t hate him. He did good work for them, hell, he might even be the best one they had. And he was easy to talk to, most of the time. But how anyone had any energy to find fun in their line of work was astonishing. The job didn’t beat down on Davis the same way it did on everyone else. Sure, he acted jaded and forlorn, but that was all it was. An act.

Or maybe Ryan was just being cynical again. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

It must have started raining because the big coat Davis wore was covered in raindrops that rolled off and sank into the carpet. He swallowed back his annoyance, told himself a little water never hurt anybody, even though it left dark little marks all across his clean floor. Davis was lucky Ryan was feeling nice that morning.

He barely looked up from his papers, kept scratching little notes in tidy handwriting. Impossibly blue eyes flicked up briefly, enough for the man at the door to know he’d been heard. Maybe for anyone else, he would have been intimidated. But he had a couple years on Ryan, a couple miles on the tank. Ryan was a kid still, scary as hell at times and dangerous as they come, but a kid nonetheless. At least, he was to those who’d been around since his start.

“If its bad news, I don’t wanna hear it,” Ryan said coldly, looking up as Davis took the empty chair across from him. He sat with all the confidence in the world, arms resting on the table, legs sprawled. He grinned, cocky as shit and Ryan couldn’t wait for someone to wipe that smile off his smug little face.

“Hey, it’s good to see you too.” Davis smiles easily and Ryan resisted the urge to huff at him.

“Sorry,” he conceded. “Hi. Now leave.”

Davis shook his head, and a few more raindrops flew off and soaked into the ground. “No luck kid.” Ryan scowled at the nickname. “I’ve got a report for you.”

“I didn’t ask for a report.”

“Boss man did, but he wouldn’t see me today. Said he’s just talking to you and the boy until this job is over with.”

Of course. It made sense. With everything going on, the boss was getting busier and busier. Ryan had already taken on extra work, on top of his help with the latest job. Anything to keep King happy. “It’s a big one,” he shrugged. “He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”

Davis smiled like the devil. “Yeah yeah,” he waved him off and leaned in. Ryan didn’t even realize he’d leaned in too. “But word on the street is it’s your heist. Old man finally let you take the lead, huh?”

Anger flashed across Ryan’s face before he could properly school it. Davis retreated in an instant, snatching his hands back from the desk. Ryan might have just been a kid to him, but he certainly wasn’t someone to fuck around with. If he was anything like King, his anger was volatile and strong and unforgiving. It was only a small relief to see Ryan reign himself in, that smooth mask of professionalism back in place.

“They’re wrong,” he said, voice laced with venom. “It’s his, just like everything else.”

Davis stared at him for a moment, and his voice was almost too soft when he asked “he’s really got you believing that, doesn’t he?”

Ryan frowned at him. There was too much to unpack in that question, too much implied, too much he wouldn’t let himself consider. He had, in the past, and all that got him was a broken wrist and the command to remember his place.

It was better for everyone not to think about it.

“What’s your report about?” He turned back to the work on his desk, took back up writing in neat handwriting that took too long to get right. But it had to be just right. Everything did.

“Kid, look,” Davis tried, but Ryan glared at him and his mouth snapped close.

“Davis, I don’t have time right now, okay? Unless it’s something important, I want you out of my office.” There was ice in his words, and the detective watched him with a strange sort of sadness. Ryan hadn’t used to be so cold.

“You work too hard.”

“Stop,” Ryan tried, letting just a little of his stone chip away. Davis hadn’t realized how bad it’d gotten. Then again, this was King they were talking about. He didn’t have to work with him directly much anymore, not like Ryan did. And it’d been hell enough for Davis, he didn’t wanna imagine what the kid was going through.

He kept going, leaning in close again even as Ryan scooted back. “I’m serious. You and the boy work too hard.”

“Your report,” Ryan growled, defenses up again. Whatever he’d let slip was covered fully, and Davis couldn’t help but think that the poor kid was really starting to take after the boss.

“This job is gonna be the death of you both, you know that right?”

“No one gets to leave.”

Davis finally slammed his report down, and he threw it across the desk, knocking away all of Ryan’s careful notes. Papers fell to the floor as Ryan glared death at the detective. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d tried the nice route, tried doing it in a calm manner, maybe tried to make him understand. But if Ryan wasn’t going to listen to him, he might change his mind if he read the report.

“Are you sure about that?”

Ryan practically tore open the report, read the contents quickly. The detective hated watching the panic rise in his eyes, all the anger replaced when it dawned on him just what he was reading. Because Davis had been working on something for King, looking into certain things and certain people. And Davis was the one who’d discovered it first. The boy – _the boy_ \- was gone, and Ryan had to be the one to tell King.

The boss wouldn’t be happy, and that one thought sent a sharp stab of panic through Ryan’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for all my ASL mistakes. I'm doing my best to research things as I go along, and I really wanna include various signs and everything. Bear with me if something isn't totally correct!
> 
> Also the next chapter is my favorite. I feel like I say that a lot. But this one really is. It's one of the first things I wrote for this story.


	10. The Landsmeet

Geoff wasn’t surprised when Ryan came home, and then stayed locked in his apartment for the next few days. Jeremy had said he wasn’t in a good headspace, probably needed some space, and repeated everything Ryan had told him up on top of Chiliad. Gavin took up checking on him every day, and Ryan replied each time, even if it was only a short text saying he was still alive. No one dared pry farther, content with what he’d give them. It was enough for Geoff, at any rate

Geoff wasn’t surprised, either, when Trevor approached him early one morning. There were a few notes scribbled on the back of a napkin, because the Fakes were the height of professionalism. The Detective was right; this King prick wanted a meeting. Everything was set up with a go-between, some snooty sounding secretary or something. The parameters were simple, the vague notion that they wanted to extend an invitation to Geoff to discuss a possible business endeavor between crews. The Fakes could pick the time, the place, but they wanted Geoff there above all else. A direct request from William King himself. The Kingpin of Los Santos gave himself a week to prepare, and agreed to give them a location only once he was sure it was secured.

In the meantime, no one was surprised when he called a good old-fashioned family meeting.

The meeting room was much more somber then last time. There was a heaviness in the air as everyone took their seats. Ryan stayed standing in the back, leaning casually against the doorframe. An easy exit if he needed it, and everyone secretly hoped he wouldn’t use it. Geoff was at the front, head bowed and the head of the table, hands pressed against the smooth surface. There weren’t any notes spread across this time, nothing on the board.

It took a long time for Geoff to look up, to lock eyes with Ryan. No mask, no paint. Just Ryan.

“Tell me what we’re walking into here.”

Ryan nodded, pushed off the doorframe and stood straight. All eyes were on him, and a small part of him wished he’d worn the mask after all. It felt too personal, too real, to do this without the support of the Vagabond. He could be emotionless, factual, present everything with steady hands and a clear mind. But this wasn’t his territory anymore. It was Ryan’s, and he hated how nervous he felt under the crew’s watch.

_Just start with the obvious,_ he told himself. He took a deep breath, steeled himself. “King’s a powerful man with powerful allies. If it comes down to an all-out war with him, we won’t win.”

“Bullshit,” Michael huffed, arms crossed and scowling.

“I’m serious,” he replied with a stony expression. “He’s got more manpower than we do, and more ammo than you could dream up. Back when I knew him, he was prepared for anything and everything,”

“We’re not going to war,” Geoff said firmly, and for a moment, Ryan almost believed that was possible. “And we aren’t working with him. No matter what his offer is, we tell him to fuck it.”

Jack cleared her throat, drew the attention over to where she sat patiently, hands folded neatly on the desk. “The detective said something about King wanting someone found. Do we know what that’s about?”

The focus slid back to Ryan, and he could feel how all the color drained from his face. His hands stuttered for a moment, as unable to from words as his tongue. There was too much there, too much to explain. Too much he couldn’t say. And he wanted to, because everything was starting to feel too heavy for him to carry. But he’d promised, and he’d given too much already to go back on it now.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally signed, and no one seemed sure of that answer. “It won’t come to that.” He thought for a minute before hastily adding “but Davis was right. He won’t take no for an answer.”

“Doesn’t matter. We know where we stand.”

“Don’t piss him off,” Ryan signed quickly, a flash of something strange in his bright blue eyes. It was like he was staring right through Geoff, desperately trying to say something more without actually doing it.

Jeremy frowned. “What?”

“Don’t make him mad,” Ryan signed forcefully. “He’s cruel and violent and vindictive and-” and he was getting worked up, hands moving quickly and wildly. They needed to understand though. They had to know how serious all this was, how much it meant to him.

“Who exactly is this guy?” Michael asked.

Ryan faltered again. Why was it so hard to say? His hands made a few aborted motions, and he finally folded his arms across his chest. He just needed a minute, needed to figure out how much to give away. It’d been in the past. Why did it have to come back?

“You don’t have to tell us,” Gavin offered, green eyes as soft as his voice.

Ryan sighed, tried to ground himself in the moment. It took a minute, but he finally managed to say “I worked for him before the Vagabond. It wasn’t exactly crew work, but something similar.”

And because he could read him like a book, it was Gavin who sagely nodded. “He’s what you didn’t want to tell us about.”

“Part of it, yeah. We didn’t really part on the best terms.”

“And he doesn’t know the Vagabond is you, right?” Jack asked.

Ryan shrugged, more casual then he felt. “I don’t think so. He shouldn’t. Davis didn’t until he got my mask off, and I didn’t give him a chance to get word back to the others.”

“Is that why you shot him?” Michael asked, one eyebrow raised.

Ryan fixed him the most deadpan look he could muster while he signed “Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”

“I don’t give two shits who this fucker is,” Geoff said harshly, and all the attention turned back to him. There wasn’t a trace of uncertainty on his face, just confidence and a fire behind his sleepy eyes. The fury of a man whose family was threatened. “I just need to know if we’re in any danger during this meeting.”

There was no hesitation this time. “Whenever you’re around him, you’re in danger.”

Geoff nodded. “Then I need all hands on deck for this one. Gavin,” he turned to face the hacker, and the Golden Boy sat up a little straighter. “Trevor already scoped out a warehouse. Get with him and wire the hell out of it. I want every square inch on our screens the whole time. Take Jeremy along and find a good spot for him to snipe from.”

He looked at Lil J firmly. “You’re gonna get a beat on King and keep him in line the whole time. On my order –and only my order- you blow his brains out.”

Jeremy gave a mock salute, and the Kingpin shifted his gaze to Michael. “I want you to cover our exit. No one gets in or gets out of that warehouse without us knowing.”

He gave a wicked grin, and Geoff turned to Jack. “Two jobs,” and she nodded. “First one. The getaway. I want a quick, clean exit plan. Have B-team on standby in case shit hits the fan. Second one. I want you in there with me.”

She blinked back at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded, almost bashful when he looked at her. “This is our crew. You’ve been here since the start, and there’s no one else I’d rather have in there with me then you. We do this together.”

They exchanged a tender gaze for a moment, and everyone politely ignored the soft looks they traded. For the most part, their work and their relationship didn’t cross paths. Everyone let it slide when they did.

After a moment, Ryan cleared his throat. Geoff tore his eyes away from Jack, looked at Ryan expectantly. “Where do you want me?”

The Kingpin contemplated him for a long moment, and Ryan tried not to squirm too much. “The detective said he wanted to talk to you, so I expect King will too.” Ryan nodded, because yeah, that tracks. “That being said, I’m not going to force you to come.”

“I’ll go.” And Ryan surprised himself with how quickly he responded.

“You sure? Because you don’t have to. No one would blame you if you wanted to pass on this one.”

“He doesn’t know it’s me. There’s no reason the Vagabond wouldn’t be there.”

Gavin spoke up. “You’ll be okay?” And Ryan would be lying if he said the sheer concern in the Brit’s voice didn’t make his heart do a funny little jump.

He smiled back, tried to put on his bravest face and lie to the one person who could read him the best. “I’ll be fine.”

If Geoff saw through him, he didn’t show it. “Gav will have eyes on us. If you need to bail, signal him and we’ll get the hell out of dodge.”

Ryan flashed him a thumbs up, and flashed Gavin a small smile. If anyone would have his back, he was glad it was him. He was glad it was all of them. Hell, they might even make it out of this one alive.

“Alright. Meeting is scheduled for Friday. That gives us a week to get out shit together. Make the most of it.”

…

It came quicker than they expected, and before they knew it, the crew was stationed in place around a warehouse at the edge of their territory. It was bright and sunny and warm. Great weather for the city, but weird weather for such a serious gathering. Ryan squinted behind his mask, cold eyes doing one last sweep of the area. Whoever King had sent to the meeting was already inside, a dark car waiting out front. Part of him was a little disappointed he didn’t recognize the driver.

Gavin was down the street a ways, his mobile tech lab trained on them. It wasn’t a big building, and they’d had no issues bugging it to hell and back. The hacker could see and hear everything perfectly. Expect Jeremy. The sniper was somewhere in the mess of a ceiling, his usually Rimmy Tim getup swapped for dark, stealth-friendly gear. He’d been up in his perch most of the morning, and his view was great, according to his last check-in. No one had spotted him yet.

No one spoke much outside of the final check-in. No chatter on the comms, no squabbling or fighting or anything. Why was the silence so much worse? Ryan desperately wanted to hear his crew laugh, chase away the dark bubble in his chest. He needed them to be loud, for his sake. Instead, everyone was cold, serious, tucked away behind their work personas. But then again, so was he. Silent and broody behind the black skull, behind the thick smears of face paint. Behind the Vagabond.

It was show time, and Geoff Ramsey threw open the door and strutted in, Jack to his right and the Vagabond on his left. There was already a table set up for them, and little else in the wide, dark room. Sunlight bled through small, high windows, casting the dust in the air aglow. Ryan watched it a moment, drifting free, before he forced himself to look at the man seated at the head of the table.

He was broad-shouldered and teller then Ryan. His blond hair was grey-streaked at the temples, smoothed back out of his face. Mid-fifties, but not worn or beaten down. Confidence oozed off him, shone through in the slightly crooked smile he wore. A pair of guards hung close, not unlike Ryan and Jack were, with hands resting on exposed guns. But the man was unarmed, idle hands twirling a pen loosely. He rose as the trio approached, slipping the pen into the pocket of his well-worn leather jacket.

Impossibly blue eyes locked onto Geoff, and Ryan forced himself to follow every move William King made.

“Ramsey,” the older man said, smiling wide as he stepped around to greet them. “It’s good to finally meet you.” His voice was smooth, warm, a touch of a southern accent curling around his words.

Geoff didn’t smile, didn’t raise his hand to shake anything. He stared forward resolutely, shoulders square and jaw set. He wasn’t here to play King’s game. After all, one doesn’t simply become Kingpin by will alone. Geoff Ramsey was not a man to be trifled with.

“Right,” King sighed when it was obvious he wasn’t going to get any sort of greeting from the other man. “I’ve got to say, you’re a hard man to get in touch with.”

Geoff shrugged one shoulder, lazy blue-grey eyes fixed on the man before him. “I try,” Geoff replied evenly. “I’ve got a whole roster of people for you to talk to. Everyone knows that.”

The man’s lip twitched against a smirk. “I’m not like everyone.”

Ryan’s stomach turned at the words, and it took everything in him to stand still, to be silent. King wasn’t even looking at him. He was fine. He was safe.

The crew would keep him safe.

The Kingpin shook his head. “I don’t know how they run things back where you’re from, but new crews don’t just get to talk to me whenever they like.”

King smiled like a shark, blue eyes dangerously bright. He practically purred when he spoke. “Your little crew here is cute, I’ll give you that. But I assure you, Ramsey, that mine is bigger than anything you could imagine.”

“Is that a threat?” Geoff cocked his head, and Ryan wanted nothing more than to draw his gun. But not yet, not until Geoff gave the order.

“Far from it. I just want you to get an idea of what you’re looking at here.” He paused, regarded the Kingpin for a moment. “You’re a southern boy, aren’t you?”

Geoff shrugged. “Alabama, if you gotta know.”

King nodded. “Then maybe you’ve been away from home for too long. You've obviously forgotten your history.” He moved around the table to stand across from them, folded his arms and leaned back. “I’m here representing my family, the King family, down in Georgia. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”

Ryan swallowed hard and hoped to god no one heard him.

“Yeah, I heard about them. You’re out of your bounds though. In case you didn’t notice, this city is mine.” And there was fire in his words as he crossed his arms, stared the other man down.

“I’m not here for you city, Ramsey.” He grinned, and Ryan wished maybe he’d stayed home.

“So what do you want?”                                             

Finally, King let his gaze leave Geoff, and he focused on the black skull behind him.

“I wonder how well you actually know you Vagabond over there.” The words cut right through Ryan and he could feel his whole body tense, all the carefully crafted ease ripped away. King continued. “You see, I’m a bit of a fan. I think it’s safe to say we all are, to an extent. But I’ve been following him since the start, since he showed up on the map.”

He could feel eyes on him, and he distantly wondered if Jack was watching him or King. He couldn’t look away though, lost in blue eyes, knocked back nearly a decade. Back when his loyalties lied with him and he didn’t choke on the words he wanted to say.

King didn’t stop, smile growing maliciously. “He was dramatic, volatile, chaotic in the best way. I wanted him for my own crew, but every time I got close, he’d disappear. Hell, it happened so often I thought he might be avoiding us altogether. He never did come to Georgia. But I knew he was a smart man, staying off the tows of people he couldn’t take.”

“Do you have a point here? Or do you just like hearing yourself talk?” Geoff interrupted, voice hard.

The only thing King gave him was a sideways glare. “If I thought I wanted him bad, my father was practically desperate. He was dying,” and Ryan’s heart did a painful little squeeze at that, “and taking the Vagabond would have bolstered his control until he gave me the reigns. And afterwards, it’d give me the advantage over anyone who thought they could take my throne.”

Finally, his gaze snapped back to Geoff, but Ryan could still feel him watching. Eyes on the back of his head and all that crap. “Then, when I’m just about done, given up trying to chase him down, he stopped. He set up shop in Los Santos, and we all really should have seen that coming. And the funny thing was, we were all waiting for him to run his little course -destruction, mayhem, the works- and leave. But he didn’t. He stayed, and he joined you.”

“What do you want?” Geoff snapped, bringing the focus back to him.

King glared openly at the interruption. “There was another reason I wanted the Vagabond. Ten years ago my son disappeared, and the person I trusted to find him failed. I needed them both found.”

“So you wanna hire the Vagabond? ‘Cause I’m sorry pal,” he spit the word back,” but he’s not taking any jobs right now.”

“You misunderstand me Ramsey, or you just don’t know that man you’re working with.” King’s hard stare turned back to Ryan, like the cold stab of a knife in his gut. “I want to talk to James.”

Gavin noticed it first, eyes tracking the cameras around the room. It was hard to see through the monitor, but he watched Ryan tense up impossibly more. His hands, stuffed into the pockets of the Vagabond’s signature leather jacket, balled into tight fists. The slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed stuttered. And if Gavin really looked closely at that moment, he would swear he saw Ryan almost take a step backwards.

Ryan couldn’t breathe.

“You’ve got the wrong crew pal. We don’t-”

“No,” King interrupted Geoff. “He knows what I mean.” The older man nodded at the Vagabond, and when Geoff finally looked over he could see how still Ryan had gotten.

“You’re dealing with me, not him,” the Kingpin commanded, and King had the audacity to laugh at him.

“I didn’t come to talk to you, Ramsey.”

“Funny, your detective friend said the same thing,” Geoff said casually. _He’s trying to shift the focus,_ Ryan thought dimly, trying to get away from him. The question was if it was good enough bait or not. And the cold way King smiled at Ryan, he knew it wasn’t.

“Roger Davis,” King purred. “I wouldn’t have found you without him, you know that right? His last report was your heist. Or should I say out heist? The one we spent weeks planning.”

Ryan couldn’t breathe.

“I didn’t forget James.” He pushed off the table, paced closer to Ryan, and Geoff stepped in front of him. King continued, unfazed. “Did you kill him? Did you tear his throat out, or did you make him bleed out? Did you laugh? You always used to laugh when I let you take a life like that.” There was almost a songlike quality to King’s voice, too joyous for the dark things he described. Sadistically soft as he sent Ryan reeling.

He could still imagine Davis on the floor, face crystal clear despite everything. Twisted and oddly calm at the same time. The strangest death mask he’d seen in a while, and it felt like an eternity he stood there watching red pool under his boots.

“Did you kill him like you killed my son?”

Ryan didn’t pull his hands out of his pockets, or tilt his head to show he’d heard King. He stood forward, cold eyes boring holes into the man before him. If looks could kill, there wouldn’t be a single soul left alive in that warehouse.

“I came out here to give you a choice. Either you come home, you come with me and you tell me everything I want to know. Or I burn you tiny, pathetic excuse of a crew to the ground.” There were a couple shouts from the others listing in, and a muttered curse from Geoff. But Ryan ignored them all. “You can’t get away this time.”

“Alright asshole, that’s enough.” Geoff barked. “We’re going.”

But King had other plans. He moved with purpose, ignoring Geoff’s protest, and strode right up to the Vagabond. There was anger, barely concealed, bubbling away just below the surface. After all this time, after all his searching, he finally had him.

Jack raised her gun, but the two guards were quicker. A warning shot cracked through the warehouse, and the red-head froze. She seethed, and Geoff glared daggers as the guns were trained on him.

King didn’t flinch, and neither did the Vagabond. The two locked eyes, and Ryan wanted so bad to snarl and fight back. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. He felt rooted in place, frozen as things happened around him. There was distant shouting in his ear, his comms going crazy as the rest of the crew tried to figure out what was happening.

“I’ve got a shot,” from Jeremy, somewhere high in the roof. But it was drowned out by King.

“I’m done with this stupid game of yours. Now take that stupid thing off,” and he grabbed the edge of the mask in one hand. Ryan let him. Didn’t fight. Didn’t move. And King tore it off his face like it was nothing. “And tell me where the fuck he is. Where’s Edgar?”

Ryan couldn’t breathe.

They stayed like a moment longer before King shoved the mask back at Ryan. It was pure instinct to catch it, hold it close to his chest. The older man smoothed his hair back, took a deep breath and regained a little bit of that calm exterior he’s had at the start. His voice was much more level when he said “I’ll give you three days to think it over. After that, I’ll destroy everything here until I get what I want.” Finally, he turned away from Ryan, moved back around the table to stand between his guards. “And James? Don’t bother trying to run,” he called over his shoulder.  “I found you once, and I’ll find you again. You can’t bury yourself this time.”

And with that, William King turned, motioned for his guards to follow, and walked out.

There was a beat of silence, and then the comms came screaming to life.

“Should we go after him?” Jeremy asked.

“I could follow,” Gavin offered.

“Fucking Kill him already!” Michael snapped.

“Everyone shut the hell up,” Geoff hissed. “For now, we’re not doing a damn thing until I find out what the hell he was talking about.” He nodded to Jack, and the pair started heading back the way they’d entered. Ryan stayed rooted in place, until a sharp call from Geoff pulled him away. He didn’t meet anyone’s eye as they regrouped, to on the long drive back to the base, but he felt the Kingpin’s eyes on his, watching his every move. They hadn’t even been in the Penthouse five minutes before questions started flying at him.

“What the fuck was all that about?”

“Who the bloody hell is James?”

“What was he even talking about?”

“Ryan, are you okay?”

The last one, barely heard over the lads, made him flinch. He’d stood by the door, head bowed, unwilling to move into the space they shared. He could feel it, words rising in his throat and getting choked down by near primal fear. It took everything he had not to bolt out the door, down the hall, into oblivion.

No one was talking, he realized, finally lifting his head. They were watching him, concern smattered across each open and honest face. _If they knew what was about to happen, they wouldn’t look at him like that,_ he tried to tell himself. But they couldn’t know, not ever, could they? Too many secrets, too many ways to hide. After all, they didn’t even know about James.

He pushed down the panic clumsily, trying his hardest not to meltdown in front of them. Not again. Trembling hands pushed his dark hair back, tugged slightly on the ends. He took a deep breath, wishing it felt more filling. His lungs felt empty, like someone was squeezing them hard. Part of him wanted to curl up in a small ball in the corner of the room. Part of him wanted to pace.

Shaky hands started signing slowly. “It’s a long story, and I can’t tell you everything. Not yet at least.”

“What’s the easiest to start with?” Jack asked, voice calm and caring.

Ryan paused. “I’m James.”

“It’s a start,” Gavin chuckled.

“It’s the start.” He took another deep breath, trying to ground himself against his racing thoughts. He’d planned how to tell them all once, a long time ago. Now all the words seemed to be missing. How typical.

“Who was he?” Geoff asked when Ryan didn’t continue.

He grit his teeth. The anxiety he felt expanded, but so did the heat in his stomach. Age old hatred bubbled as he was confronted with everything that man had done to him. All the scars and burns and running and hiding and above all else-

“He’s the reason I don’t talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	11. Karma

They’d moved to the heist room, that same somber heaviness crashing down around them. No one stood at the head of the table, nothing on the board or the desk or anything. Just the crew, with all their chairs pulled together, all eyes on Ryan. It’d been a long while since he’d said anything, or looked them in the eye, or anything really. He sat there, staring at his hands as if he was waiting for them to move too.

He just needed to convince his hands to move.

Geoff’s gaze was the hardest. Ryan could feel it on his skin, picking him apart layer by layer until he found what he wanted. He tried not to fidget under his watch. There was bound to be something to crack his resolve and make him relent. Geoff knew enough about him to break him. Although right then, he felt pretty well broken to begin with.

It was like every time he closed his eyes, the whole story played back in bright flashes, leaving him dizzy and breathless. William King, a decade younger, at his big wooden desk, the curtains dark and drawn as always. His eyes were daggers, his grip strong where he’d held Ryan’s wrist so tight he could feel the bones rub together. And his words were sharper as he leaned in, a breath away, and ordered Ryan out of the room with barely concealed rage. “Don’t bother coming back without him,” was the last thing King had said before he left. He steeled himself, couldn’t let anyone know how scared he was, how much he was kicking himself for letting the kid get away. He had to fix it.

“I didn’t realize,” Geoff started, and Ryan tried not to flinch as he was dragged back to the present, “that by ‘William King’ you were talking about _those_ Kings.”

Ryan shrugged, and Michael looked between the two gents. Gavin and Jeremy looked equally as lost. “What the fuck does that mean?” He asked, voice angry but lacking any of his usual fire. There was something there that showed he was holding back, knew how delicate all this was. Like a house of cards he didn’t want to knock over.

Geoff turned to the lads, and Ryan let out a quiet sigh, grateful he didn’t have to be the one to explain everything. “The Kings are an old family down south, like old school crime bosses.”

“Like the mob?”

“Yeah, except they like sweet tea and peaches instead.”

Ryan snorted, and Geoff looked a little pleased as he finally pulled his hands up. “They’re about the biggest crime syndicate in the South. The King family runs it, but there’s a lot more to it than that these days.”

“And you were part of it,” Jack said, words hard. He felt a flick of shame settle in his gut. _She’s_ _just looking out for the others_ , he told himself. She wasn’t actually mad at him.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he tired, but it wasn’t right. There was so much more to it than that, and he pushed the words away. Starting over, he signed “I was supposed to lead it one day.”

Silence fell again as everyone stared at him with wide eyes. He felt like some animal on display, a new exhibit in the museum. Gavin was the first to speak, mouth turned in a serious frown. Ryan hated it. “What?”

He took another breath, and he looked Gavin in the eye, tried to ground himself in their brilliant green. Maybe if he focused on just Gavin, he could get through it in one piece. He wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t leave him floundering. He could trust Gavin. “I was William King’s heir.”

Jeremy made a funny, struggling sound and held his head in his hands. “Ryan,” he whined, “please tell me we’re not gonna have to kill your dad.”

“You aren’t.” And everyone gave a sigh of relief. “He’s my uncle.”

The room exploded. He couldn’t make out what everyone was saying, but he got the gist of it. A lot of “what the hell?” and “that’s not better!” and “Ryan, what the fuck?” It was too much to follow, and he balled his hands into tense fists. He felt like he was spiraling again, too many thoughts to keep straight, too much input he couldn’t control.

He tried to sign again, but the others kept going. They were upset, a little bit angry, and mostly shocked. Maybe there was a lecture from Geoff somewhere buried in all the noise, but he couldn’t find it. They needed to stop. He needed to get a word in. If they wanted the truth, they had to listen.

Gritting his teeth, he brought a fist down hard on the table, and the resounding crack silenced the crew. They stared at him with strange expressions, and the paranoia bubbles in his stomach. _They don’t trust you_ , his mind tried to tell him, _they won’t want you here after all of this._

Who could blame them? After all, he was a liar.

When he had their attention, and he’d pushed his swirling thoughts to the side, he brought his hands back up to sign. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“He’s really your uncle?” Gavin asked.

Ryan nodded. “My mom is his younger sister. It’s a close family though, and King basically raised me.” No one had anything to say to that, and nervously Ryan continued. “Until his son was born, I was the only heir he had. He wanted to make sure I wouldn’t fuck it up.”

“So what went wrong?” Jack asked, simple and pragmatic. Keep the story going, don’t let him drift.

“William King is a bastard, that’s what happened.” And his words were like ice. Anger burned again, melting his anxiety and replacing it was cold, hard hatred. “Nothing was ever enough for him; not me, not Edgar, nothing.” He didn't know why he added it on, but the words were out there before he could stop them. “No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough.”

The crew let his seethe for a minute, his hands curling into fists again and the hard line of his shoulders rising. Tense and angry, and it was rare to see him like that. Most times he was pretty level headed. And at worst he’d just get annoyed. True rage was unusual, reserved for the rare occasion one of the crew was hurt badly, when they needed retribution. No one knew quite how to deal with it outside of a firefight.

After a moment, he seemed to control himself, but the sharp way he moved his hands told them his anger hadn’t subsided. “King had a son when I was ten. This little, pudgy thing he named Edgar. I don’t know how he managed it, but Edgar was unlike anyone else in that fucking house. He was so damn soft, so damn kind, and he deserved a whole hell of a lot better than what he got.

“Everyone treated us like brothers, and I guess I did too. I just, I wanted to protect him. There was no way in Hell I was gonna let King break him too.

“It must have worked, because he finally got brave enough to get away. Davis was the one who found out, but I was the one King sent after him. Said he wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it.”

“King said you failed,” Gavin said with a soft voice, almost like he was afraid the interruption would make Ryan stop for good.

A dark look crept across his face, and he snarled at his own words. “I hunted that kid down. He was so fucking scared when I finally caught up to him.”

He could remember it so perfectly. Raining, always raining, with thunder so loud he felt it in his bones. The lightning was bright, and no one should have been outside at that point. But he stood there, in the middle of an empty road, staring down the most important person in his life. They were a breath apart, hard eyes and tense shoulders and a pair of guns drawn. Neither wanted this. Neither knew what to say.

The interior of his car was soaked, sideways rain jumping into the driver’s seat. It was idling, headlights on, the only visible ones for miles. The two of them stood out in them, and even though the smaller one tried to shy away, they were both trapped there. The gun in his hand didn’t shake despite the fine tremor running through his body. All it took was one crack of lightning to see the pure terror on Edgar’s face.

“What did you do?” Jeremy asked, fully enraptured. But Ryan didn’t answer, only let his gaze fall away again, almost guilty.

“Rye?” Geoff prodded. “What did you do to him?”

Edgar raised his hands, his gun clattering to the ground. It made him flinch, but years of hard life had numbed Ryan. There was no reaction, nothing in his glassy eyes. It was like he wasn’t even there, and the heartbreak was clear on the younger man’s face.

“Don’t ask me that,” Ryan shot back, fear flashing through blue eyes. He didn’t even try to hide it this time, wore it so openly and honestly on his face. Geoff hated it. “I can’t tell you.”

“Bud-“

“I’m not fucking around here!” He signed back, standing abruptly that his chair knocked back with a clatter. His eyes were so wide when he repeated “I can’t tell you.”

Jack stood slowly, hands up like Ryan was some wild animal she didn’t want to spook. And she spoke with that calm, soothing voice he was really starting to get annoyed with. He didn’t need it. If everyone would stop asking about Edgar, about what happened, he wouldn’t need it. He’d be fine if everything would just fucking stop.

“Okay, you can’t tell us. We can skip over it. But what happened next?”

Ryan forced himself to sit down again, to collect his thoughts. It took a minute before he felt calm enough to keep going. “I had to go home empty-handed. King wasn’t happy about it. He,” Ryan paused, swallowed thickly and tried to find the right words to describe just what exactly King had done to him for his failure. “He questioned me.”

“Questioned?” Gavin asked, even though he probably knew the answer. They all did, and it made him sick. “You mean like...?”

“He tortured you.” Michael said bluntly, and there was fire in his eyes. The crew didn’t take kindly to other people hurting their family, and even as old as this story was, the lad couldn’t help but want to rip that man limb from limb for what he’d done.

Ryan nodded slowly, eyes downcast, and Gavin visibly paled. “I thought I would die,” he offered softly, honestly. “I was supposed to die. But King wouldn’t let me. He just,” and he took a shaky breath. “He just kept going. He wanted his son back and I was the only one who knew what happened. And I wouldn’t talk. I haven’t since.”

No one quite knew what to say to that.

So he kept going, let himself tell his story even as the alarms in his head told him it was a mistake. “I’d known, ever since I was a kid, that we were only family when it was convenient for King. When he needed extra hands, or some power play, or when he needed someone else to do his dirty work.” The words kept coming, and Ryan barely had time to think about what he was saying. It just felt nice to get it out there. “He‘ll tell you I was like a son to him. But the second Edgar was born, the second he had a proper heir, I didn’t matter. Just a bastard who didn’t have a place.” 

There was a long stretch of quiet, the crew stealing glances between each other, almost as if they were trying to figure out who should continue the questions. There was more story to tell, and Ryan really hoped they’d heard enough. The hard part was past, but it still hurt to remember everything. He’d spent so long trying not to think about it.

Jack finally broke the silence, eyes shining and voice steady. “How did you get out?”

“A few of the guys didn’t care for King much. They got me out.” He frowned, Most of it had been a blur by that point. Hell, he couldn’t even remember their names just that “King got them in the end, but I got away. And then I started all this,” he gestured to himself, to the ruined paint on his face and the thick jacket on his shoulder. To the mask discarded in the middle of the table.

“You stopped being James,” Gavin said.

Ryan nodded. “I left James King at the Georgia state line, in as deep a hole as I could manage. The vagabond made it easy to disappear, to distance myself from all of that nonsense. I should have known he’d find me eventually.”

Geoff’s voice broke his thoughts. “He’s not going to get you.”

Ryan blinked back at him, impossibly blue eyes boring holes into his soul, like he was trying to spot the lie. But there wasn’t any. With his sleepy sort of seriousness and an iron will, it wasn’t the Kingpin. Just Geoff, true and honest and at times his strongest lifeline.

“You heard what he said back there,” Ryan signed.

“I heard a load of bullshit,” he said with a nod. “And I heard a dumbass country hick threaten my crew.”

“You can’t fight him,” Ryan pleaded.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Geoff shot back, arms crossed firmly and a smug sort of grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Geoff-”

“What’s your alternative here Ryan?” Geoff cut in, his fist brought to the table with a dull thus. Ryan blinked back at him again, a half-formed word motionless between them. “If we don’t fight, what are you gonna do?”

“If we fight, he’ll crush you.”

There was something sharp in the way he looked at Ryan, like he was seeing straight through him. There wasn’t any place he could hide, any way to get out of his gaze. Pinned like butterfly wings. Gavin wasn’t the only one who could read him like a book. “What about you though. Are you writing yourself out already?”

Ryan at least had the decency to look ashamed. His eyes dropped, traced the grain patterns in the table.

He hadn’t written himself off. There was no way in hell he was just going to give up, lay down and let King win. He couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that after everything he’d gone through. Staying alive was its own form of revenge, and they both knew it. Ryan was the only one there that night, the last person to see Edgar alive. As long as no one else knew, King couldn’t kill him, not if he ever wanted to know the truth.

But he could hurt him, Hell, he’d hurt him plenty enough already. There were more scars than he could count to prove it. If King caught him again, he wouldn’t let him go. He’d rip and tear and cut and burn until there wasn’t anything left to break. If Ryan were lucky this time, he’d die before he spoke.

This time though, there was something else King could destroy first. It wasn’t a secret that the Fakes cared about each other, were a tight-knit group. King could already see it. He’d ruin them, leave them bloody and broken, just to get to his prize. That couldn’t happen; Ryan wouldn’t let it come to that. And if that meant willingly going into certain death, then so be it.

It wasn’t giving in, not to him. It was protecting his own.

“I think this meeting is over. Everyone, get the fuck out of my house. Get some sleep and be ready to start tomorrow morning. It’s gonna be a long next couple of days.” The rest of the crew rose silently, and Ryan slowly dragged his eyes up to meet Geoff’s. “You, I want in my office. Now.”

…

The waiting killed him. Sitting there in Geoff’s office alone while the other man was finishing up with the rest of the crew reminded him too much of sitting outside the principal’s office back in school. Except this time no one was going to call his mom and let her know the terrible things her wayward son had gotten into that week.

It did give him time to think though, and maybe that wasn’t for the best. He knew what needed to happen, knew what was _going_ to happen. He just didn’t know how to convince everyone to let him do it. If he gave himself to King, if he let his uncle kill him, it would all be over. But how do you tell the people you love to let you go?

They wouldn’t. The Fake AH Crew didn’t roll that way. They stuck to their guns and they stuck to each other. That was final, no room for complaint. Why would this be any different?

As far as Ryan knew, this was the biggest threat the crew had come across. Everything else, every other group that rose up and challenged them was met with as much firepower and strength as they could muster. They’d try it again, no doubt. But the longer Ryan sat there, staring at his hands, the more he wondered if he wanted to keep fighting King.

Ten years of running. And countless more before that of living under his thumb, bending and breaking and suffering. Ten years of silence, of never giving his family his voice. Hours upon hours, days upon days of panic and anxiety. A life full of fear.

Was it worth prolonging?

There were things he still wanted to do; he was certainly not a man with no regrets. The heist he’d planned had gone well, albeit not without its own consequences. But the actual heist itself was fantastic, the kind of all over the place fun the crew thrived on. He wanted more of that, more hatching crazy schemes for his boys to commit, more planning the perfect take to make their eyes light up and their faces glow. More lazy mornings in the penthouse, watching each of his family stumble out of bed.

A vacation somewhere tropical, where they’d all wear terrible matching shirts.

Living still had its merits. Or at least, living with the crew did. If he had to go back to the way things were before, the silent, lonely Vagabond, he wouldn’t try. There was nothing there for him there. But here, waiting in Geoff’s office to get an ear full, there was something worth working towards.

If not for himself, he could at least fight for them.

The door opening suddenly drew him out of his thoughts, and he sprung to his feet. Geoff Ramsey let the door close with a soft click, and then he turned to Ryan. Before he knew it, Geoff had crossed the spacious room and drew the shocked Ryan into a firm hug. For a moment, he tensed up, and then absolutely melted into the strong embrace. If he needed a reason to keep going, this was a damn good one.

“I know this is a lot right now,” Geoff murmured, “and I know you’ve gotta be scared shitless right now. But I guarantee you that I won’t let King win. He can’t take my city, or my crew, or you.”

As reluctant to break away as he was, Ryan pulled back to sign. “He’s not gonna go down easy.”

“If you can’t do this, I won’t make you. You wanna go dark? We’ll cover you until it’s clear.”

“I’m not letting you do that alone,” Ryan shot back, more resolve in his words then he’d expected. It didn’t feel good either, not really. It scared the hell out of him to even think about it. It had to be done though, for them.

But Geoff wasn’t surprised. He smiled wide, just a touch wicked, a man ready to go to war. “Then you’ve got three days to tell me all about King and how exactly we wanna kill him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's backstory time! 
> 
> We're also at the point where I have less pre-written content, so updates might slow a little bit until we get closer to the end. I've got the middle planned, it's just more fun to write the dramatic ending scenes. 
> 
> Also, I keep laughing at how this is (roughly) a three-act story, and we're not even done with the first act yet. We're close, but I have a couple more tricks up my sleeve before we start Act two.


	12. You Need a Pal! My Calendar's Open

The next few days were filled with constant motion. Geoff wasn’t kidding when he’d said he wanted a plan by the time King was done waiting. He’d put Ryan right to work, mapping out every threat King had on his side. And it was a lot; a lot of names, a lot of allies, and a lot of supplies at his disposal. If the information was a decade out of date, it didn’t matter. Geoff wanted everything.

King’s second-in-command had been a man named Princeton, some cousin of William’s, removed enough for Ryan to forget just where, but close enough to still be a King. From what Matt was able to look up, he was still alive and kicking. There wasn’t an arrest report and no obituary either. The bastard hadn’t kicked the bucket yet, and Ryan hoped against hope he’d get the chance to send that man straight to hell. From what he could remember, Princeton was just as ruthless as King, but with a penchant for getting his hands bloodier than most. He’d been in the room when King tortured Ryan, and the very memory made his blood boil. He put him high on the revenge list.

If it were up to him, Ryan would go after Princeton first. The King family were loyal, but only to who they believed to be the right leaser. William King had a good chunk of support from the family, but there were still factions who’d turn on him in a heartbeat. Princeton’s line was no different. William only led them so far, but Princeton controlled them. If the Fakes could break that, fracture the family, they’d get the advantage. King would lose a chunk of his men at worst, or fight against them at best.

There were a few others high up on Ryan’s hit list, and by Matt’s best guess, they’d already converged on Los Santos. They couldn’t find where exactly they’d set up, but at some point between the heist and then, they’d abandoned Georgia and moved west. Which meant they’d be needing to set up supply lines if they were planning on fighting in the Fakes home turf.

That was Gavin’s job. Look into local weapons dealers and figure out who was taking new clients. They’d need to cut off those deals if they wanted to stand a chance. Michael and Jeremy hit the ground running, checking up on all the Fakes’ usual business partners, making sure no one was thinking of switching sides. The war against King wasn’t public yet, but if they could shore up their defenses now, it’d save a lot of stress later on.

Jack handled B-Team. Trevor and Alfredo slipped away to try to root out King’s hideout, get a feel for what they were up against. It’d take a while before they’d hear anything, but they promised they’d be in touch often. Lindsay stuck close to home, working alongside Jack to go over their own inventory. There were a few warehouses scattered throughout the city, and the two of them split up to make sure they were fully stocked. While they were at it, the two women peaked into their safe houses too, making sure everything was in order just in case.

For the most part, Ryan was kept inside. While he’d assured everyone that King wouldn’t attack until the three days were up, Geoff and Jack seemed to disagree. It’d be too easy to pick Ryan up on his own, although the former mercenary had scoffed at the suggestion. He wasn’t new to being wanted, hunted. He knew what he was doing. But in an effort to please the two mother hens, he laid low, dividing his time between the Penthouse and his apartment. Even then, Jack was worried about him, going so far as to offer their guest bedroom to him. It was sweet, but he didn’t take her up on it. The space away from everything gave him time to think, or rather gave him a break from thinking. When he wasn’t with the crew, pouring over his past, he could almost forget what was happening.

Almost.

There was no denying the tension whenever he was in the room. It was a heavy fog that filled the space, and everyone was strangely delicate with him. He appreciated the concern, and given his last few meltdowns, he wasn’t surprised. But the initial shock had passed, and his fear was blocked in favor of rage. It boiled under his skin, bled out in every sharp sign he gave. The softer everyone treated him, the angrier he got. He didn’t feel delicate anymore, not with the dark promise of finally being free of King hanging above him.

One by one, the others caught on.

Jeremy took him to the range early the first day, after Ryan had spent the morning huddled away with Geoff, starting to make the plan. The lad had stopped him when he’d left, gave him a wide smile and dragged him away before he could say anything. Ryan let him, went easily with whatever scheme his battle buddy had concocted. Always made for good fun.

To top it off, Jeremy had packed all the guns they’d be bringing. The only thing Ryan was sure of was the small sidearm he kept with him. Other than that, everything was left up to the lad, and he happened to know exactly what made the Mad Mercenary smile.

The range was more of an open field than anything else. There were a couple old targets set up, some paper and some glorified hay bales, all littered with holes from previous trips out. A large pile of bottles and cans sat nearby, posts on the far side where they could be set up to shoot at. They didn’t come out too often anymore, not when heists and odd jobs gave them ample opportunity to hone their skills. But sometimes, when they started getting bored and snappy, Geoff would send them out that way with a strict order to “shoot something that wasn’t each other.” And of course, any time they got their hands on a fun new toy, the range was stop number one.

Ryan had always found the rhythmic pattern of shooting soothing. He’d chalked it up to a long-standing family tradition of violent crime, but whatever worked really. There was peace in the practiced movements. Loading the magazines, soft familiar clicks as each bullet found its place. The sure way everything fit together, a satisfying weight in his hands. The loud crack as he fired into the target and the deep satisfaction of seeing the hole where the forehead would be.

They didn’t talk much as they shot, mostly deafened by the heavy ear protection. But Jeremy didn’t hesitate to cheer at every perfect shot, every spatter of glass as he blew bottles back with pinpoint accuracy, clap Ryan in the shoulder when they switched spots. His smile was radiant and his energy electric, contagious.

But there was still a heavy anger burning itself out of Ryan’s chest.

It didn’t take long for things to devolve. They’d started out professional enough, fired the way they were meant to, safe and respectable distances from targets. But there was a knowing look in Jeremy’s eye, and Ryan lost himself in the sharp smell of gunpowder.

He fired shot after shot after shot across the field, the hay stuffed target soaked up each bullet it was riddled with. The constant _bangbangbang_ was deafening even through the ear protection. He felt it in his blood, each pull of the trigger in time with his racing heart.

He could imagine King across the distance, smug smile and wicked eyes and he seethed with rage. The trigger pulled back again, and bullet after bullet ripped through his body. But there wasn’t any satisfying spray of blood or crumpled body. Just hay, hanging delicately in the air.

The urge to scream bubbled in his throat.

Instead, he ground his teeth and adjusted his stance, pulled the gun a little tighter. His knuckles were white where he gripped the warm metal. And he unloaded again, bullets carving through the air. Too many shots went wide, kicked up dirt and grass where they missed their mark. But enough struck true. The phantom King wavered, took a shot to the shoulder, another to the center of his torso. And finally, one landed smack dab in the fucker’s forehead, snapping his head back without a sound. But King didn’t go down.

Frustrated, he fired again, but this time there wasn’t any loud bang, or recoil, or anything. Just a click to let him know his magazine was empty. But he wasn’t done. With a growl, he threw the gun aside. Like second-nature he wiped out a knife, beautifully sharp and lethal looking. He reared back and let it go, watching the gleaming metal twist end over end until it sunk deep into King’s chest.

Ryan stood there panting a moment, and part of him wondered when he’d gotten so worked up. The visage of King faded, leaving behind a target filled with lead, his knife standing attention dead center. The suffocating need to scream subsided though, and he forced himself to take a couple deep breaths to calm down.

Jeremy whistled behind him, impressed. The lad had the biggest smile, staring out at the carnage Ryan caused. And he had to admit, the shabby state the target was in did make him feel a little better. Just a little though.

And like he could read his mind, Jeremy pointed back towards the car they’d parked a little ways away. “I’ve got bigger guns back there, if you wanna keep going.”

“Might be here awhile,” Ryan signed, finally getting his breathing back to normal.

The lad shrugged. “My calendar's open, man. Besides,” and he nodded back towards the knife sticking out of the hay corpse, “I wanna learn to do that.”

Ryan nodded, felt himself start to grin just a little. It was a good start, even if the anger hadn’t quite stopped bubbling just below the surface.

…

If he’d had to guess who would try to distract him next, it would not have Michael Jones. The lad wasn’t exactly known for his emotional control, or for having a lot of sympathy for others. His brand of caring involved a lot of violence, particularly directed at whoever had decided to mess with his friends this time. He took care of the problem and let someone else clean up the fallout.

Having him stop Ryan from leaving the Penthouse on the afternoon of the second day was a shock. Michael had been hard at work all day, running around the city, trying to track down King. He shouldn’t be home. He should have still been out there, tenacious and determined to beat some payback into the people threatening them. He certainly shouldn’t have been encouraging Ryan to pack everything up and follow him to the garage.

It was a little known fact that Michael was a damn good driver when he put his mind to it. Jack was still the queen of getaways, but the demolitions expert just had a touch for racing. Where Jack was smart, her only goal was to get the crew to safety. Michael’s goal was to just go as fucking fast as he could push it. He took turns at breakneck speeds, headless of if he even had all four wheels on the ground or not. It didn’t matter, he could handle anything like a dream.

So when he offered to give Ryan a ride when they broke for the day, he didn’t even consider saying no.

They took something sleep and fast out of the city, windows down to feel the sweet summer air whip past their faces. The sun was barely starting to fall, the faintest hints of golden light blooming around them. It was far from peaceful though, not with the music blaring and Michael’s off key singing and the roar of the highway around them. Ryan could barely hear himself think and relaxed into the noise.

He drove them out of town, where it was rocky and dry and there wasn’t another soul for miles. Enough room to play with, to really push their limits and leave everything else in a dust cloud. Absolutely perfect for what he had in mind.

Michael tore off the road, foot slamming on the gas. If they were fast before, this was lightning. They launched forward, a wild cheer from Michael and a plume of dust chasing after them. Ryan laughed breathlessly, reached up to grip the handle above the door. Michael shot him a manic smile, and Ryan’s heart pounded as he realized the younger man was gonna go all out for him.

How sweet.

Before he could breath, the lad threw the wheel to the side, and their speedy little car went obediently. They made a tight loop, Michael barely letting the car slow before they were off again, almost dizzy from the speed. Cackling, the lad threw in a couple more turns, deciding randomly which way to throw them. Ryan went with it, holding tight to whatever he could grab. He watched the speedometer tick higher and higher, his heat racing alongside them. But it felt fantastic.

He couldn’t stop from grinning each time Michael threw them around, hands tight on the wheel but confident. Hell, both of them cheered when they took a turn just right and popped up just on two wheels .With just a glance, they both agreed to try that again. It was exciting and electric and he didn’t have time to think as the world became a blur outside the window.

Time flew by, the sun threatening to dip below the horizon, leaving the world bathed in warm light. Ryan would have been content to stay there forever, lose himself fully in a dust cloud. But with deft hands, Michael swung the car around, their tail-end fishtailing dangerously as they raced back towards the main road. Ryan was ready to protest before he finally saw what they were gunning towards.

Gavin’s shitty purple Blista stuck out against the warm dirt. And Gavin himself, leaning against the hood, stood out even more. The late afternoon sun made his sandy-colored hair nearly platinum, radiant around his head like a goddamn halo. The gold watch around his wrist sparkled, and Ryan’s heart did a tumble when he realized it was the one he’d given him earlier. It was the only one he wore lately. His shitty gold sunglasses covered bottle green eyes and he smiled wide as they slowed to a stop in front of him.

Michael parked and Gavin leaned in through the open window, aware of the way Michael casually tapped his ear. No hearing aids today. Never really wore them when it was just Ryan and him. It tended to be a good break for his shot hearing.

Gavin signed as he spoke. “Nice driving boi.”

The other lad grinned as he signed back. “Ryan had to work with Matt all day. Figured he needed a break.”

“My hero,” Ryan signed back, although only Gavin caught it. Still, it made the Golden Boy smile, and that was enough for him.

“What’re you doing all the way out here? Thought Geoff had you working on shit?”

He shrugged. “Finished early. Jack said you two headed out this way.”

“Why?” Michael asked, a smile like the devil across his face. “Here to steal my date?’

The smile Gavin gave back made something flutter in Ryan’s stomach. “If he wants,” he purred, and even through the sunglasses, Ryan felt his gaze linger just a fraction of a second too long on him. He hoped it was just the heat making his face tingle and he wasn’t actually going red over it.

Michael looked back at him, and Ryan distinctly ignored the smug look on his face. He focused on the softer smile on Gavin’s face as he replied “I’ll pay if you pick.” No one mentioned how the Golden Boy glowed at that.

Gavin took him back to the diner, squirreled away in the quieter part of town. There were a few people scattered around, hushed conversations no one bothered to listen in on. Evening sun streamed across their table, and Gavin soaked up the sun like a lazy cat. He smiled across at Ryan, calm and confident and familiar.

It was almost too casual for Gavin to order for him, not bothering to ask but somehow reading his mind. And when he rested his hand on the table, Ryan had half a mind to thread their fingers together. The thought didn’t quite scare him as much as usual.

They ate quietly, Gavin occasionally breaking the peace to talk about his day, the funny thing his computer did and the strange way he worked around it. How he’d gotten a call from Larry that Ryan’s car was almost fixed, they were just waiting for another part to come in. Ryan didn’t think to question why he’d called Gavin instead of emailing him like usual. He was too wrapped up in the way the other man smiled when he spoke, how the corners of his mouth squished up his cheeks. The sunlight made his faint smattering of freckles stand out against tan skin.

He’d gotten too distracted, and it took a second to realize Gavin had stopped talking, was watching him with fond eyes. “You’re staring,” he chuckled.

“I’m paying attention,” Ryan signed back lazily.

“Then what did I just say?” He challenged, a gentle smile across his lips.

“British nonsense,” Ryan replied with a chuckle.

Gavin glared at him, but there wasn’t any force behind it. Hell, I’m that quiet diner, the sky cast golden next to them, there wasn’t even room for pretend anger. Everything was too hazy, too relaxed, comfortable in the best way.

It always was with Gavin.

The others felt like home, he couldn’t deny that. Jeremy could read him without words, and Michael knew the best ways to work off stress. But Gavin? He knew how to make everything settle, to feel steady and secure. To just exist in a moment. He didn’t feel like his world was tipping quite so much anymore, but in the quiet moments he shared with Gavin, his world felt normal again.

If he thought too hard about it, he could probably get a word or two out of it we’re just the two of them. For Gavin, he might have even been willing to try. Instead, he reached over and stole a fry from his plate, and laughed at the indignant squawk that earned him.

After a minute, he cleared his throat and Ryan snapped his attention back to the moment. “So, did you have a good day?” Gavin asked, failing miserably to sound casual. Bright green eyes were locked on Ryan, impossibly drawing him closer in. The brit chewed his lip, hands going from his lap to fiddle with the straw in his glass. Ryan watched him try to keep ice from floating to the surface.

“You three planned all this?” He asked, eyebrow raised.

The lad’s smile faltered for a moment. “You caught on,” he almost sounded disappointed.

“Normally all three of you don’t take me out in the same weekend.” He shrugged. “Don’t feel too bad though. I did have a good time.”

“We figured you could use the distraction.” Gavin sighed, a faint dusting of blush across his cheeks. Never did like his sneaky, heartfelt gestures being called out.

“You didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to,” and Ryan blinked at that. “You’re not the only one who’s had a hard time in the crew. We know what it’s like to just keep thinking the same things over and over again. It’s horrid and I thought your little mind needed a rest.”

“It’s not little,” he pouted dramatically, and Gavin kicked at him under the table. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

The brit waved him off, but after a quiet moment, the two of them watching ice cubes break the surface of his water, he spoke in a small voice. “If it makes you feel better, my family didn’t want either.” And when Ryan didn’t reply, he added in an impossibly smaller voice “turned me out the second they could. Didn’t even bat an eye.”

“Where’d you go?”

“The streets mostly,” Gavin replied, and then smiled sadly. “It’s where I got my start. Picked up stealing to survive.”

“Sneaky little thief,” Ryan signed gently, unsure of what exactly to say. Gavin didn’t open up about his past very often, none of the crew did. Happy childhoods didn’t make criminals. He knew vaguely about the others, that Geoff chose to leave home instead of being a punching bag for his drunk old man. Jack made her own place in the world when her family said they wanted their son, not the woman she was happy to be. Michael and a friend of his set off to get rich and ended up running drugs for some bastard out back east. Jeremy sent most of his early days getting the shit beat out of him in some underground fighting ring. And Gavin-

“Street rat fits better I think.” And when Ryan frowned at that, he scrambled to clarify. “Thief is like what we do now, taking things because its fun and we can. I didn’t want to be doing what I was before. I was just taking stuff to keep going.”

“You did what you had to do to survive.” Ryan tried to force as much care into his signs as possible. Because there was nothing wrong with trying to survive. He knew from personal experience that you take it one day at a time, _just reach the night and you’ll be fine._ The desperate crawl to find a way to eat, to get out of the cold. To get safe.

Gavin understood, and his sad smile turned slightly. “It’s better now, here with all of you.”

“It is,” and Ryan meant it.

“Do you think it made you stronger?” Gavin asked after a beat, and Ryan cocked his head. “People always go on about how they’re stronger because of what they went through. Do you?”

Ryan scoffed. “I don’t buy into that crap.”

“What did it make you then?”

A million things. Paranoid and angry. Careful, perceptive, ruthless. More scarred then he really should be, and maybe a little bit bloodthirsty. A killer, whether or not he liked it, a feared member of the criminal underground. Silent.

“I think I just got scared,” Gavin admitted, watching all the ice melt away in his drink. “Sometimes I catch myself wondering when all this is gonna end. Like, I keep waiting for the day I wake up and Geoff says he doesn’t want me here anymore. And then I’ll be back on the streets, where I belong.”

“He’d never.”

“I know,” he replied confidently. “But sometimes I don’t _know_. Does that make sense?”

He nodded. “In a weird way, yeah it does.” It was a very Gavin thought, but he got it. Because he knew the crew loved him, would do anything for him, but sometimes that little voice in the back of his head crept in and tried to tell him otherwise. He kept having to fight himself to remember the crew was safe, was home. They weren’t afraid of him and they didn’t want him to go. “I don’t think I got scared.” He wiped the words away. “I’m not scared. But I keep thinking that eventually you’ll all realize I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

The brit stared at him incredulously. “We’d never.”

“With King coming-”

He cut him off though, fire in his eyes. “We’re not talking about that right now.”

“Gav-”

“And you’re not a burden Ryan. You’re just a bit like someone in the middle of something he can’t handle alone. But never a burden.”

There was so much conviction in his words that for a moment all Ryan could do was stare at the man he was so lucky to have met. Things really were better with the crew. With Gavin. So he smiled sheepishly, and signed. “I know, just…”

Where Ryan trailed off, Gavin nodded. “Sometimes you don’t.”

And when the sun finally set, Ryan didn’t think about tomorrow. Or the day after. Or anything past the smile across the table and the soft way their hands met in the middle, not quite touching, but close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna try to update twice a month now instead of once. I don't want this to take forever to write, so I'm trying to put out more content faster! That doesn't mean it's getting rushed though, I'm just not going to be lazy. Also schools over for the smester, and work is about to get less crazy for once. 
> 
> So here's to moving forward!


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